


the nicest word there is

by entropyalwaysincreases



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: American Gothic - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Ben is 32, Breeding Kink, Child Death, Civil War, Come Marking, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual spanking, Corporal Punishment, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dealing With Trauma, Discussion of Abortion, Dubious Consent, F/M, Free use vibes, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, Homesteader Ben, If it was not apparent by the tooth rotting amount of fluff, Implied Sexual Assault, Intercrural Sex, Little House on the Prairie vibes, Loss of Virginity, Nipple Play, OC Character Death, Object Insertion, Older Man/Younger Woman, Orphan Rey (Star Wars), Papa Kink (?), Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pseudo-Incest, Referenced Childhood Sexual Abuse, Referenced Infant Death, Referenced historical events including a massacre, Restraints, Rey is 15, Rimming, Slow-ish burn, Somnophilia, This has a happy ending y’all, Touch-Starved, Trans Character, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Victorian, Victorian Funeral Traditions, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), War violence, ear biting, earlobe kink, tags will update, unwelcome advances from a teacher, water sports, when did Daddy become a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 98,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropyalwaysincreases/pseuds/entropyalwaysincreases
Summary: The year is 1880. Reyna Sands is an orphan sent West on the Orphan Train. Ben Solo is a bachelor trying to eke out a living on a homestead in Nebraska.He never thought he’d adopt a daughter.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1308
Kudos: 1447





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The train pulls into the station in the late afternoon. The air is heavy with dying sunlight, and the buzz of cicadas seems to give a voice to the heat. Rey presses her forehead against the window pane, certain her face is flushed and sweaty. Certainly her dress is dusty and wrinkled. She does her best to straighten her bonnet and smooth her skirt, before hoisting her carpet bag out of her seat and down the steps to the platform.

It doesn’t matter. No one is looking to adopt a fifteen-year-old girl off the Orphan Train.

This is the second time Rey had stopped in Red Cloud, Nebraska. The second time she’s stepped off the platform into any number of small towns along the railroad and tried to look presentable and appealing, strong enough to do farm chores and meek enough not to cause mischief. The first time down the line was full of excitement. Rey had never ridden a train before. She took in the billowing smoke and squeal of the wheels on the tracks with wide-eyed wonder. The clean grass of the prairie stretched for as far as the eye could see, so different from the sooty, stinking city. And every stop was full of potential, so many families looking for children. Surely one would want Rey? And so she stood on platform after platform, trying to look presentable, strong, and meek. 

It didn’t matter. No one is looking to adopt a fifteen-year-old girl off the Orphan Train.

Now she’s on her way back East. Back to picking through dust bins and hoping for a day’s wage in a deafening factory. Back to choosing between the cold streets and the nuns that hit.

“Reyna Sands?” The woman from the Aid Society looks up from her notebook. Rey nods quickly. “This is the last of them, Pastor.” 

She addresses a bearded man leaning heavily on a hoe. He peers at Rey.

“Protestant?” Rey nods quickly again. To be honest, she has no idea with which religion her parents had tried to save her mortal soul, but this is an Anglican Aid Society. “Good, good, those Papists get a bit touchy about  _ their _ children, you know.”

He looked her up and down, eyes her threadbare carpet bag. Rey shifts it so the broken handle is less visible.

“I remember you, you were here a month or so ago.” The Aid Society lady nods in confirmation. The Pastor shifts a bit guiltily. “Ah, that’s a real shame then, can’t have you going  _ back _ …” He hums. “I’d talk to the missus but we already have quite a few ‘round our place, have to put you up in the barn. No, that won’t do at all…”

He walks off in the direction of the small town center, ugly square buildings with false fronts and dusty boardwalks over the hard-packed streets. Rey looks nervously at the Aid Society woman. Should she get back on the train? But he’s back in a few minutes, another man in tow.

“...not really sure-” the man is saying as they walk up together. 

“Come now, Solo,” the Pastor claps him on the back. “Can’t go telling me a bachelor like you doesn’t need some domestic help, and lookit her, just a little thing, she’d hardly eat you out of house and home.”

The second man looks her up and down, eyes catching on the broken carpet bag handle. 

“What’s your name?” he asks her gruffly. 

“Rey.” Her voice comes out in a whisper, and she’s certain he doesn’t hear her at all. She tries again. “Reyna Sands.”

“I’ll vouch for Solo, here,” the Pastor is telling the Aid Society lady. “Good Christian man. He’ll treat her right. And we got a school here now, she can get educated proper.”

The man, Solo, stares hard at her. His eyes are a deep, caramel brown; she feels like he’s peering into her soul. 

He breaks his gaze. “S’pose I could take her,” he says in the direction of the other two. The Pastor cries “Right-o!” and claps him on the back again. He and the Aid Society lady fiddle a bit with some paperwork, calling Solo over to sign. 

Rey isn’t sure what to feel. Rather than relief, she largely feels a bit numb. She follows the man to his wagon, where he lifts her bag into the seat before helping her up. His hand seems to engulf her whole forearm, and when he swings up to sit next to her in the seat, clicking to his team, she realizes just how large he is. 

They trundle out along a path that wagon wheels have rutted into the grass. The sun is setting now, the air becoming cooler. She watches grasshoppers try to keep up with the wagon, clinging to the wavering stalks before flinging themselves forward again. A racket of birds comes from a nearby copse of trees. 

“I’m a few miles out,” he tells her, looking straight ahead, reins clasped in one hand. “Got a claim shanty, so it ain’t much. Got plans though.”

He lapses into silence. Rey thinks she should say something to this, but can’t for the life of her think what. They ford a shallow creek, and she clutches the wooden seat of the wagon, praying she doesn’t fall in. Solo reaches his arm in front of her, holding her against the backrest. “Steady now.”

The claim comes into view, bounded by the creek on one side. The claim shanty stands in a dirt yard, wooden boards bleached by the sun and a little stovepipe chimney sticking out at a jaunty angle. A slightly larger barn stands on the other side of the yard, and she can spot a few cows in an adjoining field. Chickens scrabble around the wagon as it rolls to a stop.

“Reckon you must be starved,” he says, hefting her bag over his shoulder. “Got some good salt pork in town.”

The claim shanty is a single room, a stove in the middle, with a chest of drawers and a large bed shoved up against the wall. The bed is covered with a surprisingly pretty quilt. Solo sets her bag on the bed and returns to the wagon for more parcels. Rey follows after him. She’s supposed to be useful, isn’t she? But he comes back and starts to fry the salt pork with some vegetables from the garden, and hands her a plate with some brown bread. 

She can’t help but rip into the bread, hardly pausing to chew. When that’s gone, she wolfs down the pork and sprouts. 

She looks up to find Solo staring at her. Her face flames red. 

“Want some more?” He offers the pan, and the rest of the brown bread, and she gratefully accepts. She eats slower this time, trying to remember what the nuns had tried to teach them. Chew with your mouth closed. Don’t lick your fingers. 

Solo eats his own portion, studying her all the while, before startling in his chair half-way through. “Shoulda said grace.” He shakes his head. “Ah well, don’t tell Dameron. He’ll scold me for being a bad influence.”

Yes, grace. Another thing the nuns would want her to remember.

It’s full dark now and Rey eyes the bed nervously. She’s heard stories from other girls, and good Christian or not, Solo is still a man.

He notices her gaze. “Just got the one bed for now. I’ll look into making you one soon.” He cleans up supper, lighting an oil lamp and clearing away packages, before pushing open the shanty door to the yard. “Best get your nightgown on, I’ll be back after I bed the animals down for the night.” 

Dread sinks in Rey’s stomach as she watches him leave. She should’ve known he was too good to be true. But… he fed her seconds. Might be worth putting up with… whatever else. 

Rey has two dresses to her name, one bonnet, a pair of worn boots, two pairs of stockings, an apron, a corset with whalebone sticking out, a sweater unraveling at the seams, a set of combinations, and one threadbare nightgown. She pulls this on while Solo is outside, talking to the pigs in a low voice that carries through the open window. She considers tugging her sweater on too, but it’s simply too hot to be permitted. Instead she’s frozen wondering if she should get under the quilt, when Solo pushes the door to the shanty open. 

He goes to the chest of drawers and pulls his work shirt off without ceremony, dropping his trousers next so that Rey quickly averts her eyes and studies the quilt pattern. It has overlapping hexagons that almost float toward her in the dull lamp light.

When she turns around, he’s dressed in a long night shirt, and gestures her to get into bed. She curls against the wall, tensed and waiting for him to reach out to touch her, but he only says “Good night” and extinguishes the oil lamp. She lays tensed a while longer, until she hears his snores. In the morning, she can’t remember falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to post as often as I can. Will include content warnings for each chapter in the end notes.
> 
> The Orphan Train was a [real thing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orphan_Train). They really did try to match Protestant children with Protestant families and vice versa. 
> 
> Ben's [quilt](https://americanhistory.si.edu/collections/search/object/nmah_556457).
> 
> [Red Cloud, Nebraska](https://www.visitredcloud.com/) is Willa Cather's childhood town, and is the basis for Black Hawk in My Ántonia. I'm a big fan of Nebraska tbh.
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

There are three cows, two horses, four pigs, and (Rey thinks) seventeen chickens. She follows the chickens around the yard, scattering feed for them and breaking up their small squabbles. She finds an egg nestled in some tall grass near the barn, and this excites her so much that she runs to find Solo in the near field to show him. He stops when he sees her approach, and she grins broadly and holds the egg out in her palm. 

“That’s… that’s real nice,” he says to her, taking off his wide-brimmed hat to wipe his brow. “Best put it in the cupboard with the others.” 

The others? Rey hurries into the claim shanty to find the cupboard. When she pulls the door open, there are nearly a dozen eggs sitting neatly in a little cupped tray. She places her egg carefully among them. A dozen eggs!

After a lunch of cold ham and as many greenbeans as Rey can eat (Solo set her to picking them in the garden earlier) he leads her to the far side of the barn. 

“Thought you could do some wash,” he says. “Sort your things out now you’re here. Got some blue jeans to throw in if you don’t mind.” He leaves her alone with a bucket of water and some soap. 

Rey considers the set-up. She’s washed her clothes before, certainly, in dank little sinks and tepid buckets. Sometimes with soap and sometimes with just ash from a dustbin. And she’s seen laundresses at work, with their big paddles and washing boards. It can’t be too hard. 

The scrubbing goes well, she works quickly through her own clothing, watching the water become grey. The blue jeans are made of a curious, heavy canvas dyed a royal blue. Rey thinks they’re pretty. She dips them in water and scrubs on the board, then drapes them over the clothesline. Solo comes to find her after milking and hands her a cup full of frothy milk. 

“Set the milk from last night for cheese, but I thought you’d want a taste.” Rey smiles shyly at him and sips. It’s warm and creamy, sweet. Nothing like the milk she’s had before, on the verge of sourness. 

After supper, Rey takes a basket to the clothesline to collect the wash, only to find an array of limp bundles in the dirt of the yard. A lone pair of stockings flutters at her from the line, Solo’s beautiful blue jeans crusty with dust at her feet. 

Tears well up unbidden in Rey’s eyes, and she feels a familiar panic course through her veins. Surely this is enough for Solo to take his hand to her backside? She’ll have to rewash everything, and it’s near completely dark out…

She scurries around the yard, collecting the dirty clothing back into the bucket. Where was the pump for water? Or did Solo get it from the creek? She swallows a lump in her throat at the thought of asking him. Perhaps she can hide everything until tomorrow? But her nightgown is a crumpled mess, and suppose Solo wished to wear the blue jeans in the morning…

“Wondered where you got to.” Solo’s low voice sounds from behind her, and Rey nearly jumps out of her skin. “Whoa now, it’s alright.”

His eyes fall to the bucket with the dirty blue jeans resting at the top, then flicker up to the stockings still fluttering in the light breeze. Rey feels a tear slide slowly down her cheek.

“Forgot to show you the clothespins, didn’t I?” He plucks a little tin bucket from the side of the barn and rattles them around. “Nevermind, I’ll help you tomorrow.”

Rey numbly follows him back to the claim shanty, carrying the bucket on her hip. There’s still the problem of her nightgown. She averts her eyes again as he dresses for bed, and then stands awkwardly, twisting her skirt in her hands.

“My–” her voice catches in her throat. 

Solo looks up at her single word, tilts his head questioningly. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “My nightgown.”

She nudges the bucket at her feet with her boot, avoiding his gaze. She can hear him rummaging in the chest of drawers, and then a piece of fabric is tossed into her hands.

“My mother’s,” he says. Rey looks down at the silky fabric. It’s embroidered and trimmed with delicate ribbon. “She was a bit shorter than you, but no matter.”

The nightgown feels like liquid against her skin; Rey is certain she’s never worn anything so fine. 

Solo brushes her arm a bit when he gets into bed beside her, but she doesn’t tense up like the night before. Within minutes, she’s fast asleep.

Solo watches her do the laundry again the next morning, and then helps her pin the various items into place on the line. He rubs some of the fabric between his fingers while he hangs it to dry. 

“This all you have?” Rey nods, then pulls on the sleeve of the dress she’s wearing. She’d even left off her combinations and her corset to be washed, but figured she could wash this dress the next laundry day. 

He mutters to himself a bit and walks back to the shanty; he has a peculiar gait, not quite a limp but a little uneven. Rey sets to the chores she did yesterday, determined to make herself useful. She finds three more eggs around the barn, and gathers handfuls of beans, picking weeds when she sees them crop up between rows. When she goes to place the new eggs in the little cupped tray, she finds Solo rummaging through the chest of drawers, different fabrics spread over the quilt.

“Ah,” he turns when she walks in, looking a little shifty. “Pardon, I just thought- I mean, you only got the few things, and these are just sittin’ in here…”

He pulls a dress off the top of the pile and holds it up for her to see. It’s beautiful, embroidered with floral designs and bedecked with ruffles, full-skirted in a style from a few decades previous. “This’un probably wouldn’t be for around the farm, but I think there’s some plainer… You’d have to fix ‘em up to fit you, a’ course.”

Rey smiles shyly at him. Internally she feels a sense of unease. Every item of clothing she’d ever worn had come from a barrel, and while she’d done small repairs here and there, this seems far beyond her skill set.

“Anyway, we can sort that later. I made some bread, s’pose that’ll be your job from now on.” He gestures at the oven, and Rey can smell the loaf baking within. “Gotta move the cows’ stakes in the outer field, be back for lunch.”

Rey watches his queer walk to the outer field, and then turns her attention to the dresses on the bed. There are indeed a few plainer dresses, fine calicos that seem smart and practical. She holds one up to her frame; it’s at least six inches too short, and a bit wider in the hips. And the skirt- Rey would have to find an old crinoline somewhere if she hoped to wear it like that. No, she’d just have to cut away some portion of the fabric.

An acrid smell reaches her nostrils. She yelps and grabs a rag to fling open the oven door, where the loaf sits smoldering and blackened. She places it gingerly on the stove top, trying once again to hold back tears. 

Solo comes jaunting back across the yard, holding some greens in his hand. He holds them out to her when he draws close. “Just thought I’d tell you these are the summer planting of collards, suspect you thought they were weeds…” 

He catches sight of the burnt loaf. “Ah, shucks.” Rey stares miserably at the floor. He’ll send her back now for certain, wasting good bread and greens like that. Dirtying his blue jeans. Eating him out of house and home. She wants desperately to say something, but a knot has formed firmly in her throat and she can barely see through the sheen of tears in her ears. He moves as if to touch her shoulder and she cowers, waiting for the strike. His arm falls back, and then he steps away to grasp the loaf in one large hand and bring it out to the pigs. 

The next few days pass in a blur for Rey. She tries to do all her chores as well as she can, but everything seems to go wrong. She drops two eggs the following day, and somehow dirties the beautiful quilt while laundering the bedding. She clumsily mends one of Solo’s shirts, and wakes up in the middle of the night to find him re-doing it by lamplight. She can barely meet his eye anymore, and her shoulders are tight with worry over when he’ll send her back East. Surely this isn’t what he wanted from a girl off the Orphan Train. He’d wanted a hard worker, strong and meek, and Rey is just meek, about to dissolve into despair. 

Solo clears his throat one evening after a supper of a hearty stew. Rey tenses; this must be it.

“See you haven’t done anything with the dresses.” Rey shakes her head, staring at her bowl. “Now I got to thinking, Dameron has a girl, just about your age…”

Rey can’t hear him over the ringing in her ears. Dameron- that must be the Pastor- he said he had too many at his place, Solo must want to replace her with one of them. A girl who knew how to sew and do laundry and bake bread. 

“-tomorrow afternoon?” 

So soon. Rey didn’t even last a week.

The tears are suddenly flowing freely down her face, and there’s a low moaning in the room. It takes her a few seconds to realize it’s coming from her throat. “Please,” she gasps. It’s hard to get enough air. “Please don’t send me back.” The floor seems to tilt at an odd angle, and she finds herself in a heap at the base of the chair. 

Suddenly, she feels warm hands scooping her off the floor, and when she reorients, blinking away tears and trying to control full-body shudders, she finds herself in Solo’s lap in the rocking chair on the far side of the stove. His arms tighten around her until the shuddering stops, and then her head lolls limply back against his shoulder. 

“Please don’t send me back,” she croaks. “I- I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I’ll do anything.”

“Ain’t gonna send you back,” he says gruffly in her ear. “Never was gonna. Just thought you might like to meet Rose, maybe have her show you a few things. She’s a real nice girl.”

Rey breathes deeply while she considers what he’s saying. He’s not sending her back? She’s not sure about this Rose character, but she’ll meet all the real nice girls he wants if he’ll let her stay. 

She realizes he still has his arms wrapped around her. He’s warm, comforting. Rey can’t remember the last time someone touched her that wasn’t a slap or a shove. She doesn’t want it to end.

Solo seems to be relaxing into it too, his breaths steady against her ear. 

“Alright,” she says, and it’s not a croak or a whisper. “I’ll meet her.”

Solo nods, and his whiskers tickle her neck. 

They dress silently for bed, Rey carefully tying the little bow of the neckline drawstring in the silk nightgown. 

In the middle of the night she wakes to find herself in the middle of the straw tick mattress, curled up against his giant form, as if her body just can’t get enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Rey has a panic attack. References to past physical abuse.**
> 
> [Swill milk](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/swill-milk-scandal-new-york-city) \- what I imagine Rey probably drank as a child. Amazing anyone survived back then.
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

The next day is Sunday. Rey tries her best to put her hair into two neat braids, and wears her freshly washed dress. Then she sits beside Solo in the wagon seat, hands clasped in her lap, as they make their way back to town for church.

The church is a pretty, steepled building made of new pine boards, not even painted yet. A small knot of people mill about in front of the building, and Rey watches them while Solo ties up his team, then rounds the wagon to help her down. There are a number of small children running about, and a few older boys and girls who stand off a bit from the rest. She spots the Pastor, who has his hand resting on the lower back of a woman who must be his wife; Rey sees now why they couldn’t take her, it seems they’d have a new little one soon.

“Miss Reyna,” the Pastor greets. “And Solo, welcome. This is my wife, Kaydel.”

Rey smiles at them. Solo clears his throat.

“Say, Dameron, do you think Rose could help out with a few things sometime? Just get her adjusted like.”

The Pastor smiles broadly. “I’m certain she’d be willing to help. Rose!” He calls behind him, and one of the bigger girls comes over, smiling at them. She’s wearing a pretty yellow calico and has her hair in two thick, black braids. 

“Hello!” she says.

Rey can’t stop staring. She’d seen Chinese in Chinatown of course, but none who spoke to her in perfect, unaccented English.

“I’m Rose,” she sticks out her hand.

Rey slowly holds hers out to shake. “I’m Rey,” she says quietly.

“Nice to meet you, Rey.” The girl glances up at Solo and then shifts her gaze to the Pastor.

“Rose, would you mind helping Miss Reyna here get settled in? Maybe she could lunch with us after service, give you a chance to get acquainted.”

“Of course!” Rose smiles again, and tucks Rey’s arm in hers as they start walking into the church. “You can sit with me and Finn.” She glances behind them at Solo, who hovers like a dark cloud in his black Sunday suit. “And Mr. Solo, of course.”

They slide into a pew, fresh pine like the rest of the building, Rose on Rey’s left and Solo on her right. A tall, colored boy slips in next to Rose just as Mr. Dameron stands at the front. “I’m Finn,” he whispers to Rey, holding his hand across Rose’s lap so she can shake. His smile is blinding white.

Rey reaches out to grasp it. “I’m Rey,” she whispers back. 

The Pastor clears his throat. “Welcome, brothers and sisters…” 

He goes on to speak about thanksgiving and charity, and then reads a passage from his handsome, leather-bound bible. 

“...taking the five loaves and the two fish he looked up to heaven and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people; and he divided the two fish among them all. And all ate and were filled…”

He pauses and looks up at the congregation. “And so we see that it is through Christ that scarcity becomes plenty, and that none need go hungry on this bountiful Earth. With Christ, there is food enough for all.”

They take Communion, and then greet the other parishioners. Rose introduces Rey to everyone, and Rey is grateful not to have to speak much. Solo helps her back into the wagon to follow the Damerons (Rey is having a hard time keeping track, but she thinks there are five children, plus Rose and Finn) back to their homestead. 

The Damerons have a real house, not just a claim shanty, with a gabled roof and covered porch. They even have real glass windows in the frames, whereas Solo just has mosquito netting tacked into the wood. The barn is steepled and is painted a rich red, and Rey thinks it wouldn’t have been so bad to have to sleep there. She glances at Solo. Not so bad with him either.

They dine on cold duck, boiled potatoes, collard greens, sauerkraut. Biscuits and gravy, hard-boiled eggs, and little fairy cakes with jam. Rey’s eyes are round in her head as she takes in the spread, and she thinks she catches Solo chuckling at her but he’s schooled his face when she turns to look at him. 

She helps Mrs. Dameron and Rose with the dishes. Solo follows them into the kitchen with a package from the wagon. Rose unwraps it and gasps with delight; it’s two of the plainer dresses from the chest of drawers, but she lifts them out with reverence. “So much fabric,” she breathes. 

She takes Rey’s measurements and then helps her cut the skirts more fashionably, gifting Rey a thimble so her stitches are more even. Rey can’t keep the smile off her face as Rose prattles on about the goings-on of the farm and the gossip from the small town. It comes time to try the dress on, and Rey changes behind a screen in the kitchen. Rose hems and haws, making adjustments. When she goes to tuck a piece in, she brushes against the exposed whalebone of Rey’s corset. 

“Oh,” Rose says, biting her lip. Rey’s face flames red. Rose smiles kindly at her. “If you’d like, I have an old corset that should fit you fine.”

She runs upstairs to fetch it and Rey studies the wood floor, shamefaced. 

Rose brings down the corset, and a set of combinations she says are too small for her. Rey thanks her quietly, moving behind the screen to change completely, but can’t quite meet her eye when she emerges. The dress fits perfectly over the new underthings. They start on the second.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dameron found me in a brothel,” Rose says quietly after a long stretch of silence, stitching a hem steadily. “I was only three or four, and my mother was dead. This is all I have left of her.” She touches a necklace at her throat. 

Rey looks up at her, stricken. Rose’s eyes swim a bit, but she smiles at Rey, grasping her hand tightly. Rey smiles back, squeezing her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m- I’m real glad to know you. I hope we can be friends.”

“We will be,” Rose says confidently. “Bosom friends.”

They find Solo and Mr. Dameron smoking cob pipes out on the porch. Finn sits on top of the lunch table in the yard, plucking a fiddle with his fingers. 

“Whoo-ee, you look mighty fine, Miss Reyna,” Mr. Dameron says when he sees her in the doorway. Solo just puffs on his pipe, observing her. 

They pack up to drive home in the gathering dusk. Rey gifts Rose the remnants of the dress fabric, and thanks her again for her help. When she’s about to leave, Rose pulls her into a tight hug. “I’ll see you again soon,” she says. 

Solo glances sideways at her in the wagon seat as they trundle down the track. “You’re a real little lady now.” 

Rey can’t help the blush that dashes across her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Clumsily navigated 1880's racial politics. Touch o' Jesus. Canon character death (Paige).**
> 
> First off, I made Rose Chinese to fit with the waves of immigration at the time. I hope I didn't offend anyone. I imagine her mother was brought to San Francisco as a prostitute and had Rose before dying. The history of Chinese prostitutes in the West is really [horrible](https://www.historynet.com/chinas-lost-women-in-the-far-west.htm). I will be clumsily navigating even more 1880's racial politics when we get into Finn and Poe's backstories. 
> 
> I'm not an especially religious person, but religion will probably be a big part of this story. The church they go to is a [Congregational](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congregational_church) church - Laura Ingalls Wilder [attended](https://beyondlittlehouse.com/2009/04/09/the-spirituality-of-laura-ingalls-wilder/) Congregational churches throughout her childhood. I imagine that Poe is a Congregational minister by way of a Quaker [education](https://www.friendscouncil.org/resources/quaker-curricula/quaker-education-a-source-book/chapter-1-the-rise-of-q-ed-early-schoolseducation), and that his views of gender and race are heavily influenced by this. I thought [Mark 6:41](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+6%3A31-44&version=NIV) would speak to Rey especially.
> 
> Rey's fixed-up [dress](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/174303448063255452/). Almost certainly not historically accurate but I do what I want.
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

The next week goes by much more smoothly. Solo makes sure to show Rey every step of a new task, and she even manages to ask him a question when something is unclear. She falls into a comfortable daily routine of tending the garden, kneading the bread, feeding the chickens, and helping Solo re-stake the cows in a fresh patch of grass in the far field.

“Careful of the snakes,” he tells her. “Mean old rattlers.”

This scares Rey more than anything else in the West has yet, but he just chuckles at her. “They don’t want to bite you. That’s what the rattle’s for. Just watch your step. Keep an ear out.”

He lays a large hand across the broad side of one of the cows, who he refers to only as “M’lady.” 

“Reckon she’s due to pop within the week.”

“What- you mean, she’s going to have a baby?” Her eyes grow round and she can’t keep the excitement out of her voice. A baby!

“Now, don’t you go getting your hopes up.” He drops his hand and fixes her with a warning look. “If it’s a male-”

“I know,” Rey says quickly, casting her eyes down to the clean, green grass swaying gently in the breeze. Country life was a lot kinder than city life, but it still had its cruelties.

Solo hammers the last stake into the ground and gazes for a moment at the cows grazing.

“You wanna see the little gopher town?”

They walk about a mile from the homestead, Rey picking her way through the tall grass like she’s walking through landmines. The gopher town spans about an acre of pockmarked dirt, with little hills surrounding their holes. One chirps an alarm as they draw closer, and there is a sudden scramble as the animals race underground. Solo tells her to stand still, and slowly the rodents emerge, cautiously going about their business. Rey spots a handful of half-sized gophers near one mound, and brushes Solo’s arm as she claps her hand over her mouth in excitement. He chuckles.

“Now there’s some babies for ya.”

Solo spends the rest of the afternoon fishing in the creek. Rey ties up her skirts and wades in the shallows, watching minnows dart around her toes. A splash from upstream draws her attention and she goes to investigate. A long creature with a whip-like tail stares back at her, before flipping away under the water. 

“Damn otters,” Solo mutters. “Scarin’ away all the fish.”

They feast like kings that evening, bass and trout, good brown bread, summer squash and beans, fat tomatoes so ripe they’ve split their sides. Rey eats until it hurts, and Solo tells her about his plans for the homestead.

“Fixin’ to plant a fruit orchard down that’a’way, apples and peaches and the like. Got the wheat field already, but I might diversify. Put down some seed potatoes. And in the spring I’ll buy some lumber, start buildin’ a real house over yonder. Turn this into a tool shed.”

Rey smiles at him, basking in the feeling of being full. Solo pulls out his cob pipe and they sit in silence in the gathering darkness.

Sunday morning Rey takes extra care to tie her hair neatly into braids, tying them with ribbon from the chest of drawers. She smooths on the nicer of her two new dresses and wipes down her boots so they’re free of mud. They’re still split at the heel and her stockings have a clumsily mended hole at the ankle, but Rey has never felt so pretty.

Solo comes in from the field, his funny gait even more exaggerated in his haste.

“M’lady’s havin’ her calf.” He gathers some rags and a bucket. “Won’t make it to church today.”

Rey hurries after him before doubling back to fill the laundry bucket with more water from the pump. She holds it to her hip, sloshing as she half-runs to the outer field. M’lady is lying on her side, panting. Solo has his hand right up near her rear. Rey can spot a single hoof dangling out.

“Why don’t you keep her calm,” Solo tells her. “I gotta pull the other leg out.”

Rey situates herself near M’lady’s front, cradling her head in her lap and petting and cooing at her. “You’re gonna be a real pretty mama,” she tells her. “Real pretty.”

The cow snorts, and a wild brown eye stares up at her.

“Almost got it,” Solo says, his face pinched in concentration. “Almost… there.” He pulls his hand away and a gush of fluid leaks out.

The rest of the labor seems to go relatively smoothly. It’s not more than an hour before the calf emerges in full, a tiny bedraggled thing. “Female,” Solo announces. M’lady rolls out of Rey’s lap and staggers to her feet, then starts to clean the calf’s head.

Rey offers Solo the bucket of water to clean himself, but he mutters that he’ll go take a dip in the creek. “Watch for the afterbirth,” he tells her as he walks away. “Don’t let her eat it.”

Rey keeps vigil the rest of the day, carting away the afterbirth as soon as it’s expelled. She watches the calf dry to perfect baby fuzziness, and tentatively pats her head while M’lady looks on. By evening the calf has stood up to suckle at M’lady’s teat. 

At Rey’s prompting, Solo pulls the pair into the barn for the night. “S’pose we wouldn’t want the coyotes gettin’ to her.” 

She quickly takes over staking the cows in the morning, leading the calf and M’lady from the barn and finding them the nicest patch of grass. She finds wildflowers in the field and weaves them into circlets for them to wear on their heads. She frets about Solo taking too much of M’lady’s milk. 

Solo rolls his eyes goodnaturedly and musses her hair. 

One morning, nearly a week after the calf is born, Solo comes into the claim shanty while Rey is still dressing. He keeps his eyes downcast, and rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“I-” he pauses, as if unsure how to continue. “I’m real sorry, but-”

Rey looks up in alarm, and when a low bellow emanates from the barn, she pushes past Solo and runs across the yard in her stocking feet. 

The little calf is curled up under her mother as if sleeping, but Rey knows before she touches her that she’s dead. She sits in the hay and pets the little, stiff body. 

Solo comes up behind her. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “Sometimes the babies… they just die.”

Rey nods, her vision obscured by unshed tears. She doesn’t make a sound; he told her not to get her hopes up, after all, and if anyone knows that babies sometimes just die, it’s Rey. 

Solo leaves and comes back with a blanket to wrap around the calf. He carries it to a corner of the far field and digs a hole. Rey brings M’lady to say goodbye, and after Solo pats the dirt over the grave, she gathers wildflowers to lay over the top. He heaves a deep sigh and touches her elbow briefly, as if not sure she’ll allow it, before leaving her alone.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Rey does laundry, which is hard and mindless, and by the end of the day she’s so sweaty that she takes a dip in the creek herself. They eat supper in silence (Solo thoughtfully leaves beef off the menu). 

“There’ll be more babies,” he tells her, carefully reaching across the table to take her hand. Rey nods sadly, and before she knows it tears are streaming down her face and she can’t keep in the little, hiccuping sobs that escape her mouth. 

“Oh- no, I’m sorry, c’mere.” He pushes his chair back and scoops Rey into his arms, settling them into the rocking chair the way he had when she’d thought he was sending her away. She tries to gather herself and takes a few deep breaths, but he shakes his head. “Cry all you want, sweetheart.”

And she does. She’s never cried much before, except in brief moments of frustration or fear; she’d learned quickly as a child that tears never got her anything, except a slap. Even when Baby…

Eventually she cries herself out, and sits quietly in Solo’s lap. She wonders if he’ll move to get up, but he keeps his arms wrapped around her, breathing deeply and calmly.

“The nuns,” she starts in a watery voice. “They gave me a baby to look after. I was about nine, but I loved him so much. He was so tiny, with a little tuft of bright orange hair. He never cried when I was holding him. And I did my best to keep him fed and warm, but…” Solo’s arms tighten around her. “Sometimes babies just die.”

Solo hums lowly, and dips his head so his lips brush her hair. They sit for a while longer, listening to the crickets through the window.

“I had a real hard time after the war,” he says eventually. “Stuff I seen, stuff I _did_ …” He pauses again. “Guess you been through a bit of war yourself.”

The silence stretches, mellow and sweet, like a cool breeze.

“I’m real glad you came here, Rey.” 

Tears prick up in Rey’s eyes again, and she squeezes one of his arms. 

“I’m real glad I’m here, too.” It’s the first time she can recall him saying her name, and she asks him something she hadn’t realized was bothering her. “Why did your parents name you Solo? Did they want you to always be alone?”

He huffs a laugh behind her, his breath tickling her neck. “Ah, no, not as much. Solo’s my surname. My Christian name’s Ben.” A pause. “You’re not alone.”

Her lips curve. “Neither are you.”

They sit awhile longer in silence, and Rey thinks it must be getting very late.

“Can I call you Ben, then?”

His whiskers twitch. “If you like.”

“Can I call you Papa?” She says it teasingly, but there’s a deep longing there she doesn’t vocalize.

He shifts a bit beneath her. “If you like,” he says again.

They finally extricate themselves and get ready for bed. Rey faces the wall and tries to keep to her side of the mattress, even though she’s aching to be back in Solo’s arms. She drifts to sleep, her heart considerably lighter, her thoughts with Baby and with the calf, wondering if cows went to heaven.

In the morning, she wakes to a wall of warmth at her back, Solo’s arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Mildly graphic animal labor. Animal death. References to past infant death. Rey's really into babies, so maybe read the writing on the wall if you're bothered by main character pregnancy.**
> 
> Ben would've been about 17 when the Civil War ended, which was [technically](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_soldiers_in_the_American_Civil_War) too young to fight, but a lot of boys got around this by simply looking older, which I imagine he did. He enlisted when he was sixteen. For those of you who are worried, I could not bring myself to make him a Confederate soldier. Luckily (?) the Union troops did plenty of things worth atoning for. We'll get into this in detail, stay tuned!
> 
> All of the wild animals mentioned are native to Nebraska. Do yourself a favor and read up about [prairie dog colonies](https://www.worldwildlife.org/stories/8-surprising-prairie-dog-facts). They have a rudimentary language!
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in end notes.

Rey sits with Rose again in church on Sunday, and she’s touched when the other girl proclaims how much she had missed her during the previous week’s service. Rose tsks with sympathy when Rey explains the death of M’lady’s calf. 

Finn pipes up. “I once carried a calf thirty miles on the back of my horse; cried my heart out when it died.”

“Finn drives cattle down to Colorado Territory in the fall,” Rose explains. “He’s a real cowboy.”

“Got the boots n’ everything,” Finn says, lifting his leg to display a handsome, spur-heeled boot on the back of the pew in front of them. “And Colorado’s a state now, Rose.”

“Finn!” Rose scolds him, smacking his arm, and he lowers his foot down, smirking. Rey thinks there’s a certain fondness in Rose’s gaze, even through her fierce expression. 

“I’ve never met a real cowboy before,” Rey says to Finn.

“Well, this is what we look like. Some of us. Others look different.”

Mr. Dameron stands at the front, and Finn falls silent. 

“I was thinking of our brother, John Brown, this week,” he tells the congregation. “I was thinking about violence in the face of injustice. I was thinking about great, personal sacrifice that begets great, communal change…”

_John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in his grave_  
_Glory, glory hallelujah_  
_His soul goes marching on_  


Solo examines the plump wheat berries that bow the long stalks, crushing the head and holding them in the palm of his large hand.

“Reckon’s it’s time for the reapin’.” He holds his hand out for Rey to see.

“Do you really use a scythe?” Rey asks eagerly.

Solo chuckles. “Only cuz I ain’t got nothin’ better.”

He shows her the grain cradle, a modified scythe with additional, long fingers that caught the grain as it fell. “Tie the stalks into bundles as I go; then we’ll shock ‘em in this field and thresh ‘em later.”

Rey follows behind him as he swings the great scythe, cutting swaths of wheat down in front of him. She uses single stems to tie fist-fulls of grain in his wake. When he pauses to wipe his brow beneath his straw hat, she fetches him a tin cup of water from a pail. 

“Could I try?” 

Solo eyes her a bit skeptically, but shows her how to swing the blade, adjusting her grip. “You gotta shift your weight through, like _this_.” He has his arms around her, covering her hands with his to grasp the scythe. 

“Mmm,” Rey says, and can’t help feeling a bit bereft when he releases her so she can try alone. She swings the blade. 

“Not bad, you got it. Not bad at all.”

It’s hard work, but Rey has always been strong, and she’s gained weight in the month she’s been at the homestead, her arms and legs banded with new muscle, and her cheeks losing their hollowness. She swings again and again, relishing the satisfying way the wheat falls and is deposited into neat piles on the ground. Solo follows behind her, tying knots into the grass stems. 

They get about halfway through before switching again, and then Rey finishes the whole thing off, looking back in satisfaction at the field; it reminds her of a newly shaved head. They stack the little bundles into shocks to dry. 

Rey collapses into the slim shade provided by one of the shocks, and Solo passes her some water in the tin cup. 

“Mighty fine little reaper we got here,” he tells her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’ll be a big help with the slough grass. Cuttin’ it for the hay.”

After washing up, they eat a simple supper of bacon, johnny cakes, fried eggs, and greens, and Rey pulls out some berries she scavenged along the creek with a flourish. They sit in their chairs just outside the door of the shanty, popping the berries into their mouths and savoring the small explosions of flavor.

When night falls, Solo settles into the rocking chair and pulls out a book. 

“I- I thought I might read to you.”

Rey smiles at him, and when he brushes his knee in invitation she perches herself in his lap. He clears his throat and begins.

_It is an ancient Mariner,_  
_And he stoppeth one of three._  
_‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,_  
_Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?_  


A shot rings out one early morning, waking Rey from her slumber. She shrugs into a robe (another re-made marvel from the chest of drawers) and hurries out of the shanty in her bare feet. She can see Solo beyond the far field, walking away into the distance. She swallows heavily and ducks back into the shanty to dress in a hurry.

She finds him elbow-deep in the guts of the largest deer she’s ever seen, its huge head lolling under the spikes of a massive rack of horns. 

“Caught a herd of elk passin’ through,” he grunts, his knife neatly excising the bowels. Rey fetches a bucket for the entrails and a pail of water. Solo finishes dressing the elk and hooks it up to his team, then hangs the carcass in a tree over the coolest part of the creek.

“I gotta get off to town,” he tells her, tugging his bloodstained shirt over his head distractedly. “Pick up some lumber for a smoking shed.” He takes the skin with him, to be tanned in town.

Rey does all the chores herself that day (and proudly thinks they were done as well as Solo himself would have done them). She cleans the entrails for sausages, and then spends some time with M’lady after the milking is done. By the time she hears the clatter of the wagon returning, supper is ready.

Solo dumps the lumber in a pile behind the barn, and hefts some other packages out to bring the claim shanty.

“Got a few bushels of seed potatoes, put those in the root cellar later. And I got you these.” He holds out the last package somewhat bashfully. Rey opens it to find a new pair of boots. To her relief, they look reasonably flat-heeled, and the leather is soft and supple. “Traced your old pair on a piece of paper; hope they’re the right size.”

Rey tries them on; they fit perfectly, though she thinks she’ll have to wear them in. 

“There’s new stockings in there too, and some wool socks for winter. Gets mighty cold here.”

Rey stands up and wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing gently. She looks up at his face. “Thank you.”

Solo clears his throat and ruffles her hair.

They eat Rey’s supper, and Solo compliments the cooking. She looks at the book in the armchair longingly. Solo follows her gaze.

“Could read for a bit. My eyes are a bit strained, from the driving, but-”

“I can read.” 

Solo’s eyebrows shoot up before he seems to try and school his expression. “That would be alright,” he says slowly. Rey isn’t offended at his shock; it is a near miracle she learned to read. But there’s always a scavenged newspaper to be had on the street, and usually an abundance of bibles in the orphanages and asylums.

Rey settles herself into his lap as the night before. She opens the book and rifles through the pages, stopping short when she sees the title on the page. Her voice rings clearly in the small shanty.

_On either side the river lie_  
_Long fields of barley and of rye,_  
_That clothe the wold and meet the sky;_  
_And thro’ the field the road runs by_  
_To many-tower’d Camelot;_  
_And up and down the people go,_  
_Gazing where the lilies blow_  
_Round an island there below,_  
_The island of Shalott._  


They cut the slough grass after Solo builds the smoking shed, huge flanks and fat elk sausages hanging over slow burning hickory wood chips. The slough is past the gopher town, way out in the open prairie in a natural little hollow. Here the grass grows thick and deep, bright green stalks waving in the hot breeze. They take turns with the grain cradle while the other sits in the shade of the wagon. When they’ve cut all the grass they care to cut, Solo lifts forkfuls into the wagon bed with a pitchfork while Rey stands on top and tramples it down. They drive back to the claim and spread it over the far field to dry.

Rey rips off her sweaty bonnet. It’s perhaps the hottest day yet. She mumbles a bit inaudibly to Solo that she’s going to the creek while he fans himself with his hat. She plucks bits of straw from her dress as she walks, sighing in relief when she hits the shade of the trees that spring up along the water.

She tugs her boots off her feet, then her stockings. She’d left off her new corset for fear of ruining it, but her combinations are soaked through and her dress will need some serious scrubbing to get the grass stains out. She dips her toes in the current while undoing the top button.

The sound of footsteps makes her look up, and before she can react Solo emerges around the path from behind some trees, partway through pulling his sweaty shirt over his head. He stills when he sees her, his shirt in his hands in front of his bare chest, dark hair wild with sweat. 

“Ah, I’m real sorry. Thought you’d gone to the house.” Rey nods, taking in his broad shoulders, the muscled biceps, his tensed forearms that lead to those huge hands. She can feel her nipples tighten through the thin material; it must be the chill of the water. Solo clears his throat. “I’ll just go down thisaway…”

He heads off down the creek. Rey watches him until he disappears around a bend, then rips off the combinations and submerges herself in the cold water.

They’re a bit quiet in the evening at supper, but they settle in to read together as they do every night. It’s Rey’s turn, and she reads smoothly through the stanzas

_The mute bird sitting on the stone,_  
_The dank moss dripping from the wall,_  
_The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o’ergrown,_  
_I love them- how I love them all!_  


She goes to turn the page and notices Solo’s hand, rested gently on her hip, deeply gashed and covered in clotted blood.

“You’re bleeding!” She puts the book down hurriedly and turns in his lap to examine his hand, cradling it in her own. He seems to startle out of a daze and looks down at the injury.

“I didn’t rightly notice,” he says. “I’ll be damned.”

Rey slides from his lap. His other hand, wrapped around her waist, seems reluctant to let her go, but she’s back in a minute, with water and rags to clean the cut. She holds his hand delicately while she bandages it, carefully turning it this way and that, dragging her fingertips down his palm gently. He shivers a bit beneath her.

“All better, Papa.” She says. The word pops out of her mouth without her fully intending to say it, but it feels right. She drops a kiss to the back of his hand for good measure.

He pulls her down to his chest, and they just sit there for a moment, her face nestled into his neck. He rubs her back with his good hand and brushes his lips over the top of her head. “Thank you, Rey.”

That night, when they go to bed, Ben pulls her into his arms before they even fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Animal death/butchering. Victorian-level nudity. Excessive linkage in the end notes.**
> 
> Did you know that 1 in 4 cowboys during the cattle drive era was [black](https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/lesser-known-history-african-american-cowboys-180962144/)?
> 
> [John Brown](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Brown_\(abolitionist\)) was an abolitionist that advocated for armed insurrection before the Civil War. The song ["John Brown's Body/The Battle Hymn of the Republic"](https://www.npr.org/2018/07/04/625351953/one-song-glory) has a pretty fascinating history. Whatever people use it for now, it was originally a song about the glory of ending slavery. Anyway, I put this in because there's a lot of shit going down right now, and also because it always bothered me that Laura Ingalls Wilder had such a negative description of John Brown in _Little Town on the Prairie_.
> 
> All about [harvesting wheat](https://livinghistoryfarms.wordpress.com/2015/07/28/grain-harvest-and-threshing-time/). Grain cradles were a little outdated at this point, which is why Ben's sort of rueful about it.
> 
> I looked up a bunch of things about butchering and smoking but didn't find a super definitive source, and eventually my little, vegetarian heart gave up. This is probably a bit inaccurate, but I imagined them smoking everything for about a month in the smoking shed to preserve it.
> 
> Poems:  
> [The Rime of the Ancient Mariner](https://www.newyorker.com/culture/comma-queen/the-epic-poem-you-need-for-quarantine), by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. You can listen to Jeremy Irons read this bit this to you! Forgive me for salivating over the idea of Adam Driver's voice reading the whole thing.  
> [The Lady of Shalott](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45359/the-lady-of-shalott-1832), by Lord Tennyson.  
> [A Little While](https://www.thereader.org.uk/featured-poem-a-little-while-by-emily-bronte/), by Emily Bronte.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe, and please consider donating to a [bail fund](https://www.communityjusticeexchange.org/nbfn-directory) if you're able to do so. Minneapolis has gotten a lot of attention, but there are a lot of cities right now that could use some help. 
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in end notes.

The air grows colder as they begin October. Rey starts to wear a petticoat layer under her dress, and a shawl around her shoulders. She adds the somewhat detestable task of collecting cow patties to stockpile in the woodshed to her daily chores. 

The air is colder, but Ben is ever-warm next to her in their little bed, and she finds it harder and harder to drag herself out from under the blankets into the chill of the room in the morning. He seems to find it hard as well, and sometimes he’ll tug her back under the covers and half-smother her under a heavy arm until near a quarter hour past milking time. When he finally gets up, he drops gentle kisses to the top of her head and the back of her hand, and then stokes the stove and brings over her dressing gown. 

One Sunday morning, nearly two weeks into the month, Rey wakes early of her own accord. There is to be an autumn social after church service today, and she can hardly contain her excitement. Her neck is slightly tweaked from sleeping on one side the whole night, so she rolls to her back and stares at the tar paper ceiling, imagining the delights that awaited her. Rose said there was to be dancing, and games, and a potluck dinner. Pork and mashed potatoes and gravy, winter squashes and baked pumpkin, bean curd and sausages and ribs and pies and cakes. Mrs. Dameron even said she would try her hand at mock turtle soup.

Ben stirs beside her, his hand that had been resting on her belly smoothly sliding up her rib cage. “Mornin’,” he grumbles blearily into her hair. 

Rey sits up, gently shaking Ben off so he grumbles even more. Her neck twinges and she gasps out loud, clutching the sore muscle.

“What’s wrong?” Ben sits up beside her and sweeps her hair to the side so he can prod the spot. His large fingers press in and start to knead. “Better?”

“Uh-huh.” Rey’s eyes flutter shut and she barely contains a soft moan. She lifts a hand to hold her hair. 

“Lord, you’re tight,” he says. “Got a real kink here.”

He smooths his hands down her arms when he’s done. Rey’s nipples stand visibly through the thin nightgown. 

“Best get a move on.” He presses a slow kiss to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, then steps out of bed to hand her her dressing gown. They’ll have to complete the day’s chores before heading off to church. Rey hurries to feed the chickens and pigs while Ben milks the cows and re-stakes them.

“Chilly today,” she comments as they load into the wagon, tugging her shawl close around her. Ben squints upwards, the threat of a storm making itself known as the sky lightens. He nods his assent and wraps an arm around her when he settles into the wagon. Rey is grateful for the warmth.

It’s a relief to step inside the warm church. Rey can barely pay attention to the sermon, she’s so excited about the social after. Pastor Dameron speaks of harvest and bounty, and says they come in many forms, the food on the table (the social was to be moved inside, to accommodate the weather), the children born, the peace won. 

He reads from Isaiah, “...the people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light… You have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest as they are glad when they divide the spoil… For the yolk of his burden, and the staff for his shoulder, the rod of his oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian… For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult and every garment rolled in blood will be burned as fuel for the fire… For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be on his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

He pauses. “I do not read this passage simply because I am expecting my own prince.” He gestures at Mrs. Dameron, who is as heavily pregnant as Rey has ever seen a woman be. The congregation laughs. “I read this passage because the harvest is a great triumph in itself, and yet it is only the beginning. Of next year’s planting and tending and a new harvest that must continue on and on. We must put in the work to enrich the soil, and not think we have won when we pull in a single crop from the field. _That_ is peace. _That_ is triumph.

“We have a new society, a new chance, a new prince onto which we can lay our hopes. To us a child is born! But we must work to enrich it! The yolk of the oppressor has been thrown off! But still we must add fuel to the fire, and we must continuously perfect this new society. Do we not raise children after they are born? Do we abandon them to their own devices, to founder and grow perverted as gnarled, twisted vines? No! We guide their growth, until they are strong and moral, good Christians that lend decency to society.”

The spread of food is even more delicious-looking than Rey had imagined. Ben puts down their contribution of brown bread and a huge, smoked elk flank. They fill their plates and find seats near the Damerons. Rose turns excitedly to Rey.

“Are you ready for school to start?” 

Rey smiles shyly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“But Rey! You know you read beautifully.” Rose had pressed her to join the Ladies Bible Study after hearing Rey read a few verses.

Rey shakes her head. “But I don’t know much geography, or how to work figures. My handwriting is surely the ugliest ever seen in the whole of Nebraska!”

School was to begin the same week, in a pretty new building at the edge of Fourth Avenue. Rey had a slate and chalk, a pen and ink and paper for writing, and a new reader and arithmetic book. She had stayed up so many nights in a row perusing their pages that Ben was forced to put them on a high shelf she couldn’t reach and turn off the oil lamp himself when he wanted her to go to bed. 

Rose laughs. “You’ll do fine. There’s all levels, and more children come in at odd times throughout the year.” One of the Damerons’ little girls came and sat in the pew next to them, her plate balanced on her knees while her feet dangled above the floor. “Are you excited for school, Shara?”

The girl nods, swinging her feet and chewing a huge chunk of bread. Rey laughs. 

“Is Finn back from the drive?” she asks. Finn had taken a five hundred head of cattle from near Broadwater up north into Indian Country. He said it was to be one of the last drives of the year, before they left the herds to overwinter in the open plains.

“No,” Rose says sadly. “I was hoping he’d be back in time for the social, he’s been gone over a week. I hope the weather doesn’t get much worse. If it snows…”

Rey looks out the glass windows at the darkening sky. “Isn’t October too early for snow?”

“Not here,” Rose says darkly.

Ben is talking with another man who Rey has only heard referred to as “Snap.” They’re discussing when to slaughter the mature hogs, a task they pool amongst the immediate neighbors. Snap wants to do it within the week, but Ben looks hesitant.

“Better make sure the weather won’t turn while we’re in the middle of slaughterin’. Pigs’ll keep.”

Mr. Dameron is flitting around between the parishioners and Mrs. Dameron, who seems to grow more and more annoyed with him. A fiddle strikes up, then a banjo strums lowly along with it, and someone brings out a harmonica. “Boil ‘em Cabbage Down!” someone yells across the church, and then the trio is off on the jauntiest tune Rey’s ever heard. She can’t control her foot tapping and Rose pulls her to her feet, laughing. They twirl each other around between the pews, narrowly avoiding old Mrs. Maz, who peers at them through her comically large spectacles. Snap stands and starts a hopping dance with fancy footwork, holding his arms above his head and spinning neatly. The song speeds up and Rey’s sure he won’t keep up, but he moves his feet faster and faster until the whole congregation is agog, clapping in time and whooping.

The song finishes with a flourish and they sink into a pew, breathless and giggling. In the new silence they can hear the wind howling through the eaves. Ben comes in the side door from where he’d been checking on his team. He looks concerned.

“Think it’s a real storm,” he says when he reaches them. Rey looks at the window; flakes have begun swirling and the light’s changed. Though it’s only one in the afternoon, it could well be twilight. Rose looks stricken.

“Oh no, Finn!”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine, Rose.” Rey pulls her into a hug. “He’ll come back, right as rain.”

The other parishioners have started to gather belongings, packing up the potluck dinner and wishing each other safe passage home. Rey hurries to gather her wraps. Ben loads the rest of the smoked elk flank into the wagon and readies the team. She waves goodbye to the Damerons.

Outside the cold stings her face. She struggles into her wraps and climbs next to Ben in the wagon seat. He whistles and they set off, horses trotting quickly through town and out onto the prairie. Here, without any windbreak, they struggle against the wind. The snowflakes batter Rey’s eyes and she squeezes them shut, holding tight to Ben’s arm. She can almost pick out voices, screaming and singing in eerie, wordless pitches, furious with them for crossing the sacred grass with their ugly wagon tracks.

She thinks of Finn, out on the open prairie with nothing but his horse, a lone figure bent against the wind. 

She starts shivering about halfway home. Ben looks at her with concern and pulls her closer, tucking her under his arm and driving with the reins in the other hand. “Shoulda brought the damn buffalo robe,” he mutters.

Rey opens her eyes again to find a whiteout, the wagon creaking under the force of the assault, causing the horses to spook. He urges them on, following worn tracks quickly filling with snow. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so cold, not in the worst orphanage, with the broken window panes and damp blankets, not in the alleyway near the docks, where she once woke up covered in a blanket of snow. Ben pulls her to sit cradled between his legs, his arms wrapped around her shuddering form. He pulls her hat low over her eyes and covers the rest of her face with her shawl. He rips her frozen hands out of her mittens and shoves them into his calfskin gloves. 

“Almost there,” he growls. “Don’t fall asleep, Rey. Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

They ford the creek and it’s a disembodied swaying, like the whole world has tilted on its axis and Rey can’t tell which way is up. Then she’s in the little claim shanty and Ben is pulling off her wraps and trying to stoke the fire at the same time. He unbuttons her outer dress and leaves her in just her corset and petticoat layers and then throws the beautiful quilt over her shoulders, seating her directly in front of the open stove. 

“Rub your hands, Rey.” Rey obeys him, clumsily rubbing the numb appendages back and forth and wondering how they could possibly belong to her, teeth chattering so hard it hurts her head. A scream of the wind and he’s out the shanty door. 

_Where did he go_ , Rey wonders stupidly. But he gave her a task and she works at it with a single-minded determination. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

Another scream, and he’s back, pulling off his own coat and kicking off his boots. He sits behind her and starts vigorously rubbing her arms through the quilt. “No frostbite on your face at least,” he says. Something seems to occur to him and he crawls to her feet, pulling off her boots and stockings and rubbing her icy feet. “No frostbite here either,” he says in relief. He fetches her a pair of nice, wool socks and repositions himself at her back. Gradually her teeth stop chattering and she sags limply against him. 

“Are the cows alright?” 

He chuckles, but there’s a watery quality to it. He turns her face and kisses her forehead. “They’re fine, put ‘em in the barn. Chickens were already stacked three high inside; caught one standin’ on a pig.”

Rey laughs, but it’s weak. Ben frowns and picks her up to deposit her in the bed. He piles other blankets on top of the quilt and brings her some water and some bread and butter and then curls around her. 

“Did you get frostbite?” 

He shakes his head. “Best get some rest,” he says, though it must be only three in the afternoon. Rey’s eyes flutter shut. 

She wakes to a delicious smell of frying onions and bacon. Ben’s turned on the oil lamp and stoked the stove as high as it’ll go. From the way the shanty quivers, the blizzard’s still going strong outside. Rey pushes off the mountain of blankets, feeling hot and sweaty. Ben frowns at her. “I’ll bring you a plate.”

“I feel fine,” Rey insists. She wants to get out of her corset, which is sticking to her skin through her combinations, and her petticoat, which seems to be trying to sweat the devil out of her. She goes behind the little screen that Ben built and changes into her nightgown, pulling her dressing gown over top. She pours some water from a beautiful porcelain pitcher into its matching bowl and rinses her face, then dips her comb and detangles her hair. She feels much better when she sits down at the table for supper. 

Ben seems to have freshened up as well; he’s wearing a clean set of work clothes instead of his starched church suit and his hair is neatly parted. He eyes her suspiciously.

“You can feel all your fingers fine? No burning, or numbness?”

“No!” Rey huffs. 

“Well alright, then.” He sits back, contemplating her across the table. “Scared me real bad. Freak blizzard. We never shoulda left the church.”

“But then the cows would’ve been left out,” Rey protests. “M’lady could’ve died!”

“You coulda died, Rey,” he says seriously. “I won’t ever put you in that kinda danger again.”

Rey swallows around the lump in her throat. She gives him a watery smile and reaches for his hand. “You saved me.”

Ben nods and squeezes her fingers. He takes a somewhat shaky breath, and then clears his throat. They sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the many-voiced howls of the wind outside the shuttered windows. 

“Is it nearly midnight?” Rey wonders out loud. She feels wide awake, but the light is like the witching hour. 

Ben’s eyes crinkle and he shakes his head. “It’s barely 6:30.”

Rey’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Usually they finish chores around seven and eat supper around half-past. She supposes most of the chores won’t need doing today, though the nightly milking will have to happen, blizzard or no blizzard. She’s not sure what to do with all the time.

Ben bows out of the shanty into the snow to do the milking. Before he leaves he tells her in no uncertain terms that she’s not allowed to leave a tight perimeter around the stove. She huffs at him again, but pulls out her school reader and settles in at the table. He’s back in a half hour.

“Well, since there’s nothin’ else to do…” He pulls a glass pint bottle of amber liquor out of his saddle bag and fixes her with a stern look. “Now, don’t you go tellin’ Dameron, he’s a real teetotaler.”

He pours some into the bottom of one of their glass tumblers and sips. He smacks his lips appreciatively. “Damn that’s smooth.”

“Can I try?” 

Ben’s eyes crinkle again. “If you like. Don’t go gettin’ too much of a taste for it. I agree with Dameron at least that drink’ll ruin a good man’s life. But Snap’s cousin’s from Kentucky, sends him the good stuff.”

Rey sniffs the tumbler and blinks as her eyes smart. She takes a tentative sip and erupts into a coughing fit. Ben chuckles like he’d expected as much. Rey glares at him and tries again. This time she manages to swallow a mouthful.

They pass the tumbler back and forth, and Ben refills the glass when it runs empty. “I joined the army ‘fore I got my first taste of liquor. Rest of the company took it as their personal mission to get me scammered. Woke up feelin’ so sick I wished the Graybacks would surprise us and put me out of my misery.”

Rey feels warm inside, like she has her own stove burning in her chest, and at peace with the world. They sit beside the fire and Rey traces Ben’s forearm with the tip of her finger, connecting freckles and moles like constellations.

“Shall I read to you?” Rey asks; she likes reading best, and Ben usually seems content to listen.

Ben nods and stands to move to the rocking chair. Rey settles in his lap like always, pulling out the book of poetry. Ben caresses her soft hair, pulling it aside like he had this morning and pressing a kiss into the curve of her shoulder.

“I hope your neck is better?”

“Mmm,” Rey says. “Yes, Papa.”

He nods, kissing it again. His whiskers brush her ear. She reads.

 _From the low white walls and the church's steeple,  
From our little fields under grass or grain,_  
_I'm gone away to the fairy people  
I shall not come to the town again._

Ben gently sweeps her hair to the other side and lays a kiss on the opposite shoulder. “And this side?” He drops another kiss closer to her neck.

“Mm-hmm.” She tilts her head. He places another kiss. She reads.

 _You may see a girl with my face and tresses,  
You may see one come to my mother's door_  
_Who may speak my words and may wear my dresses.  
She will not be I, for I come no more._

Ben smooths down her upper arms, kneading the muscles there with his huge hands. The dressing gown is puddled around her hips. 

_I am gone, gone far, with the fairies roaming,_  
_You may ask of me where the herons are_  
_In the open marsh when the snipe are homing,_  
_Or when no moon lights nor a single star._  
_On stormy nights when the streams are foaming_  
_And a hint may come of my haunts afar,_  
_With the reeds my floor and my roof the gloaming,_  
_But I come no more to Ballynar._

Ben kisses her just behind her earlobe. His hands gently rub her thighs.

 _Ask Father Ryan to read no verses_  
_To call me back, for I am this day_  
_From blessings far, and beyond curses._  
_No heaven shines where we ride away._

He presses his nose into her hair, breathing deeply, smelling the rose water Rey combed through the strands. He traces the delicate shell of her ear with his lips.

 _At speed unthought of in all your stables,  
With the gods of old and the sons of Finn,  
With the queens that reigned in the olden fables_  
_And kings that won what a sword can win.  
You may hear us streaming above your gables_  
_On nights as still as a planet's spin;  
But never stir from your chairs and tables_  
_To call my name. I shall not come in._

His hands skim up her belly, brushing the fabric of her thin nightgown against her skin, thumbs just catching on her stiff nipples. Rey sighs a shuddery breath and her eyes flutter shut, book forgotten in her hands.

Ben circles the peaks and gently rolls them between his fingers. He sucks, gentle, slow, and sweet, into her neck. His giant palms close around her breasts and he kneads them like they’re precious, like he’s trying to comprehend the value of something priceless.

He unties the drawstring at the top of the nightgown, his fingers comically huge handling the thin, silk ribbon, and pulls the frilly top down to reveal her breasts, pert mounds topped with rosy pink nipples, flush from his attention. 

“You have the prettiest tits, sweetheart,” Ben murmurs. He rolls her nipples again, this time skin to skin, and she gasps in reply. 

The gasp seems to do something to him, for his hands tighten around her breasts suddenly, so warm and huge that Rey feels scalded, branded. She pushes her chest into his touch. 

He shifts beneath her, a stilted shudder, and groans into her ear. He lays wet kisses along her neck and then sucks her earlobe between his teeth. This elicits a whine from Rey, and he’s pawing at her chest again, shifting her in his lap so she’s more sideways.

“Oh, let Papa kiss them, won’t you,” he sounds desperate, like he’s begging. He ducks his head to place a chaste kiss against one peak, pauses, and then pulls it fully into his mouth. Rey shrieks.

At the same time a loud crash comes from outside, where the blizzard still blows. Ben releases her reluctantly, blinking his way back into the reality of the storm. He glances down at her bare chest and hastily rights her nightgown before helping her out of his lap. He shrugs on his deerskin jack before leaving the shanty with the lamp. 

Rey stands in the dark, unsure what to do. It’s grown colder as the fire’s died down, and without Ben’s vast pool of warmth she can feel the wind whistling through the chinks in the walls. She climbs into bed, under the quilt and the other blankets, trying to straighten them out from underneath.

Ben re-enters with a swirl of snow, stomping his feet. “Just the damn smoking shed. Wind blew the roof clean off.”

“Will it blow the roof off the shanty?” Rey’s worried now.

“Nah, built that shed in a day, roof was only attached by a few nails.” He begins to undress by the lamplight and Rey observes him from beneath the covers. His back ripples with muscle. She catches a glimpse of his firm behind before his nightshirt drops to cover it. 

He extinguishes the lamp and slides under the covers. They lay a long moment in silence. Then he shifts and mumbles something that sounds like “damned already.”

He looms above her in the dark.

“Please, sweetheart.” He brings one hand up to cup a breast, squeezing it through the silky fabric. The other pulls the ribbon free again, baring her to him once more. “Please. Let Papa taste your pretty tits again.” He rests his head on her chest, mouthing at her skin. He seals his lips around a nipple and starts to suckle gently.

It is ecstasy. Rey threads her hands into his soft hair. Her head tips back against her pillow and her eyes drift shut, pleasure frissoning beneath her lids. Her mouth drops open. Her voice joins the wordless howling of the storm outside.

 _For I am gone to the fairy people._  
_Make the most of that other child_  
_Who prays with you by the village steeple_  
_I am gone away to the woods and wild._

 _I am gone away to the open spaces,_  
_And whither riding no man may tell;_  
_But I shall look upon all your faces_  
_No more in Heaven or Earth or Hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Discussion of animal slaughter. Mention of pregnancy. Use of alcohol. Dubcon heavy petting and nipple play with a minor. Author makes you read a bunch of bible verses and an entire poem.**
> 
> We've reached the smut! I'm glad you all have enjoyed the wholesome, research-heavy slow burn, but here's your friendly reminder that this is still just a vehicle for Daddy kink porn. 
> 
> Apologies for the meandering sermon. All I can say is that Poe is Big Mad about how Reconstruction is going and is choosing to talk about it in metaphor. If you gain literally nothing else from these end notes, go read this [article](https://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/29/opinion/sunday/why-reconstruction-matters.html) about Reconstruction, or if you have 37 minutes you could watch this [talk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49McwjkZmlw) by Eric Foner, the leading authority on Reconstruction history. You will not regret it I promise, he is DELIGHTFUL. Reconstruction is an often forgotten, or misunderstood, part of U.S. history, and I almost guarantee you learned it wrong in history class. A lot of our issues as a country today date back to what Reconstruction was, and what Reconstruction wasn't.
> 
> Spoiling my own story big time, but the winter of 1880-81 is the eponymous winter of Laura Ingalls Wilder's _The Long Winter_ so, uh, buckle up. Don't hate on Ben too much for driving out into that blizzard, it really was unexpected and caught a lot of people by surprise. Here is an actual, honest to god, meteorological journal [article](https://journals.ametsoc.org/doi/pdf/10.1175/BAMS-D-19-0014.1) about it. 
> 
> More on [Teetotalism](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teetotalism) and the Temperance movement.
> 
> Bible verse: [Isaiah 9:2-6](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah%209:2-6&version=NIV)
> 
> Song: [Boil 'em Cabbage Down.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyt646v4hxA) This minus the jazz trumpet.
> 
> Poem: [The Fairy Child](http://plover.net/~agarvin/faerie/poems/fairy_child.html) by Lord Dunsany. We're a few decades too early for this poem, but I love it so much and I liked it as metaphor of sexual awakening for Rey, so. 
> 
> Again, I hope people are staying safe and helping each other out during this time. While I'm on my soapbox, do some digging into your local police department budget (bet it's bigger than you think), and email your city council members to ask what they're doing about police accountability. #BLM
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

Ben is gone from their bed the next morning when Rey wakes. Everything sounds very still, silent, and Rey realizes it’s because the wind is no longer howling. She dresses as warmly as she can, with socks over stockings, and two layers of petticoats under her dress, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and pulling her hat over her hair. 

When she opens the door to the shanty, she finds a narrow trench dug through snow walls, nearly four feet on either side, leading to the barn. It’s powdery snow, much drier than the snow back East that seemed to glue itself to her shoes while she was walking. She starts off down the trench, stepping carefully into Ben’s deep footsteps. Over the top all she can see is an unbroken field of white, stretching on and on, huge drifts building in some places where the wind drove the snow. It’s beautiful, icy perfection, and it hurts to look at for too long, even though the sky is overcast. Flakes still fall around her, now on slow, downward spirals.

The barn looks like a roof placed straight on the ground, a drift of snow standing to the eaves. Rey edges through the cracked door to find the inside warm and a bit musty. The chickens cluck around her feet, and she finds the grain bucket, scattering feed for them. She gives the horses a handful each of feed as well, patting their long faces, and makes her way to the stalls for the cows.

Ben is seated on a three-legged stool, working M’lady’s teats. Rey watches him for a moment, silently. Twin streams of milk shoot into the milk pail, one then the other, and she is fixated on Ben’s hands, huge yet gentle, gathering and squeezing each teat. 

Delilah moos at her in greeting and Ben turns to look at her. “Mornin’.” He clears his throat and turns back to M’lady.

Rey pets Delilah’s head, cooing at her. “Did you eat breakfast? I thought we could have some cream over old lady Maz’s peach preserves. And hard boiled eggs?”

“Sounds mighty good.” 

Rey pokes through the barn in search of hidden eggs, and pulls yesterday’s jar of milk from the lean-to to skim the cream, then goes back to the claim shanty to start a pot of water boiling. She sneaks a slice of the peach preserves, the golden juice dripping down her chin, the flavor of sunshine and summer heat filling her mouth.

Ben comes back, stomping the snow off his boots and wiping his hands with a wet rag. “Gotta do some repairs on the barn, and on the roof. Storm was real vicious.” He slurps a cream-drenched peach off his spoon.

Rey spends the day inside, churning butter and doing laundry. She has two sets of combinations now, but she makes sure to keep both clean. She washes Ben’s Sunday suit, which is stiff with sweat, and her dress from the day before. She hangs them all on a line stretched across the shanty and gets to work on a hearty beef stew, quartering potatoes and chopping carrots, then leaves it to simmer and sits at the table, cranking the butter churn and trying to read her mathematics book at the same time.

Ben stops for a quick lunch of milk and johnny cakes, but is near frantic with activity otherwise, hammering up a storm on the shanty roof and then repairing a few boards that had come loose from the barn. He trudges through the snow to find the lost smoking shed roof and adds it to the wood pile around the side from the shanty door, then breaks deep trenches around the yard to retrieve other items that had been left out in the storm. When he comes in for supper, he collapses into the rocking chair. Within minutes, his gentle snoring fills the shanty.

Rey collects snow from outside and heats it, pail after pail, in pots on the stove, then pours it in their little wooden tub. When Ben wakes, he accepts a bowl of stew, bleary-eyed. Rey gestures to the tub.

“I thought you might like to wash.” 

He nods his head. “Thank you, Rey.”

He wolfs down the meat and potatoes like a man starved. Rey picks through her bowl.

“Do you think Finn got through the storm alright?” 

Ben shrugs. “Perhaps he was cleverer’n us, took shelter along the way. Or found some low ground, outta the wind. Smart fella.”

Rey nods. It hurts, not to know, and she worries for the Damerons as well. Their homestead is closer to town, but all the little ones… and Mrs. Dameron, too…

She wonders when they’ll be able to get to town again. For now, the snow is still falling thickly. She reflects sadly that school would surely be canceled at least for the week.

Ben stands, shrugging out of his jacket, and then pulls his sweat-stiffened shirt over his head with one hand. Rey quickly retreats behind her mathematics textbook once more. He dunks his head in the warm water, scrubbing his sweaty hair with a bar of soap, then using a rag to scrub down his torso. Over the top of her book she can see him undo the waistband of his blue jeans and pull them down, bending to free his feet from the legs. When he stands again, she can see his manhood between his thighs, hanging heavy in a patch of dark hair. He drops the rag to scrub here too, and Rey focuses again on her fractions.

When she looks up again, he’s dressed in his nightshirt and sitting in the rocking chair, perusing a newspaper. She closes her book and goes behind the screen to change into her nightgown, then performs her own ablutions with the rose water in the porcelain pitcher. She slips on a pair of socks and pads over to Ben.

“What’s the news from Omaha?”

He looks up at her from the newspaper, eyes catching at her neck, where the silk drawstring flutters loose. 

“New York newspaper,” he says. “Some strikes. Few racehorses sick.” He folds the paper in half. They stare at each other for a long moment, and it feels a little like a standoff. Ben makes a motion to tap his knee at the same time that Rey takes a step toward him.

She closes the rest of the distance and sinks into his lap. He wraps his arms loosely around her.

“Your nightgown’s undone.” His voice is low in her ear.

Rey swallows. “I know, Papa.”

“Mmm.” His nose skims from her ear down her neck, and he moves her hair to the side the way he had the night before. “You do know.” 

He lays an open-mouthed kiss to the junction of her shoulder, his tongue darting out, and then his teeth scrape gently over her skin. Rey is limp and slack-jawed in his arms, like prey subdued in the jaws of a predator. His left hand comes up to play with the loose drawstrings, sliding beneath the fabric to cup her breast, squeezing.

“You like when Papa plays with your pretty tits.” He has found her nipple, worrying it between calloused fingers; it’s sensitive, after last night, but it feels so, so good. Rey gives a shaky breath.

His other hand smooths down her belly and grazes along the inside of her thigh. It comes to rest where her nightgown ends, edging it higher, above her knee. She gasps when his hot hand meets her skin. 

He sucks a bruise into her neck, biting gently into the soft flesh. The hand on her thigh has continued its upward ascent, pushing her nightgown as it goes. “Such soft skin.” 

He pulls open the front of her nightgown so he can see her breasts, switching to pinch at the other nipple, tugging and kneading at the teat. A low whine escapes Rey’s lips.

He reaches the junction of her thighs, the nightgown pushed up so far as to almost expose her completely. He growls in her ear. “Open up for me, sweetheart.” He pulls her legs apart, keeping them open with his spread knees, his hand dipping down to trace the seam of her with one, long finger, spreading her lips and circling the nub there lightly.

It is so sweet, like candy dissolving on her tongue. Her back arches and her limbs jerk, her mouth falling open in a whimper. Ben releases her breast to subdue her arms and hold her tight to his chest. 

“I think you’ll like Papa playing with your pretty quim too.” His finger leaves her nub and dips into her soaked slit, probing carefully. He pushes inward and Rey is so wet it sinks in smoothly. He angles his hand so his thumb can caress the outside, catching again and again against the little pleasurable nub that seems to anchor Rey’s universe, his long finger pumping in and out of her. He starts sucking kisses along her shoulder, pushing her nightgown off her frame as he goes. 

He shifts his hand again and introduces a second finger, pressing slowly as he stretches her. Rey whines, clutching the arm that’s restraining her. His fingers touch something in her that she’s never felt before, a zing of crackling pleasure that radiates to her extremities, humming just under her skin. “That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he whispers. He pumps languidly, skewering her over and over, then crooks his fingers against her front wall, rubbing his thumb in firm little circles against her nub. 

Rey shatters, pleasure flooding her whole body. She jerks wildly and an almost panicked scream erupts from her throat. Ben keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of her, faster now, and his thumb presses hard. Rey’s eyes fly open and her whole body is wracked with shudders. Ben swears. “Fuck.”

She comes down utterly spent and sags against him, the arm across her chest the only thing keeping her upright. Ben rights the bottom of her nightgown and she’s seized with a smaller wave of aftershocks in response to the sensual brush of the fabric against her skin. Ben is kissing her face gently, cooing at her. “You did so good, sweetheart. So pretty, in your crisis.” 

Rey turns her face into his neck, and mouths blindly at his skin. He tastes clean, just the barest hint of salt, and warm. She opens her mouth wider to suck gently. It’s comforting. 

Ben huffs a strangled breath. She releases him, but he puts a hand on the back of her head. She finds another spot and sucks a bit harder this time. Ben groans. 

He shifts under her, and she can feel his hard manhood beneath her thigh. He rubs it against her, pressing her to him with the arm around her waist. She steadies herself with a hand against his chest, feeling the muscles there, covered by his nightshirt. She wishes they were bare against each other. She wants to kiss him everywhere.

“Oh, please, Rey-” He sounds a little wild. He shifts her again, and pulls his nightshirt up so his member springs free: hard, and leaking, and _huge_. He grasps it in an equally huge hand, pumping it firmly. He pulls her hand to his mouth and licks her palm, sucks her fingers between his teeth, then pulls it to close around the thick shaft. He pumps her hand for her, and his shuddering breaths grow more insistent. He looks at her face with hooded eyes, jaw slack. 

He caresses her face with his free hand, his thumb catching at her bottom lip, pulling slightly. She opens her mouth and he pushes two huge fingers in to rest on her tongue. 

They must be the fingers he had inside of her, for they taste distinctly carnal. She hollows her cheeks and sucks, laving her tongue around sensitive fingertips, scraping her teeth gently against his knuckles. 

Ben groans deeply and jerks. “Yes, yes, fuck- sweetheart-” She can feel his cock grow slippery, her hand dragging through a warm, viscous fluid. It must be his spend. 

He groans again and releases her hand, pulling his fingers out of her mouth. He pulls her down to rest against his chest like he had so many weeks ago. They both lie there, catching their breath. 

Eventually he stands, Rey still in his arms, and moves to the bed, lying her gently on top of the quilt. He goes to fetch a wet rag. He cleans her gently of any spend that splattered on her thighs, washes her sticky hand, then folds the rag and reaches under her nightgown to clean between her legs. He wipes his own groin area and tosses the rag back in the washbasin, extinguishing the lamp and crawling into bed. 

He kisses Rey on the forehead.

“Did you like it, sweetheart?”

Rey nods. “Yes, Papa.”

He kisses her eyelids, then her nose.

“So much, Papa.”

His lips brush hers. She wraps her arms around his neck, and pulls him into a full kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Gratuitous cow milking imagery. Less dubious, but still dubcon, heavy petting, nipple play, vaginal fingering, and a handjob, all with a minor.**
> 
> So, uh, Ben doesn't feel _that_ guilty. He is concerned about not hurting Rey, which is why he gives her space at the beginning of the chapter. Maybe his guilt will come more into play after they emerge from their little snow cocoon and reenter society ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I know zero about dairy processing, but here's some [background](https://www.rockyhedgefarm.com/separating-cream-from-raw-milk/) and Rey uses a glass butter churn jar shown [here](http://www.webexhibits.org/butter/kitchen.html). 
> 
> Ben's [newspaper](https://www.loc.gov/resource/sn83030272/1880-10-04/ed-1/?sp=1&r=-1.041,-0.003,3.082,1.387,0). If you look really closely, there's an op-ed about police reform, lol. 
> 
> Since there isn't a _ton_ of historical context this chapter, I thought I'd talk a little bit about _Little House on the Prairie_. First, the title of this fic is a Laura Ingalls Wilder quote, which is "Home is the nicest word there is." Perhaps there's another contender here for the eponymous word, I'll let you decide. 
> 
> I loved the _Little House_ books growing up, but I think even then it was pretty obvious how they were racist. I mean, there's literal blackface in one book and the core Manifest Destiny that drives the books is predicated on the necessary removal of Native Americans from ancestral lands. I did not, however, understand the political and social context in which the books were published. Laura's daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, was a fairly well-known journalist in the 1930's, and was a heavy influence in the creation of the books. The family tended more and more libertarian as the Depression wore on, and this is reflected in the books, with their glorified self-sufficiency and limited government overreach. Their political hangover reaches to the Reagan era, when their popularity helped to create a new conservative constituency and unsettle the liberal consensus established by New Deal politics. Read more in this truly fascinating [_New Yorker_ article](https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2009/08/10/wilder-women).
> 
> I don't really bring this up to shame anyone who likes the books. I still like them, and they're such a vivid part of my childhood. They truly do bring that era to life. I just think we should engage critically with the art that we consume. 
> 
> As always, hope you all are safe and healthy! Maybe go read this [article](https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/may/31/the-answer-to-police-violence-is-not-reform-its-defunding-heres-why?fbclid=IwAR2Uhuwr6xJgX9HM902Q14m_mMg47FivfwXCfx7pD320wRBowjQQQcekcLc) about defunding the police. 
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

The snow slows until eventually it ceases completely and the sun shines, blindingly brilliant, onto the unbroken white. It’s over Ben’s head in places, and in the absence of outdoor chores, Rey determinedly digs a series of tunnels, complete with small secret cubbies and side parlors and windows to the sky. 

Rey proclaims that she feels like a gopher in the little gopher town, and wonders out loud whether they have a whole city down there-- a school for the baby gophers, and a town hall, a little gopher church, and a gopher train station so they might visit other gopher towns. Ben just shakes his head at her, but his eyes crinkle at the edges, and he allows her to pull him through the labyrinth of snow. They collapse at the end of one tunnel and look up at a clear blue sky. Ben kisses Rey’s cheeks, pink with cold. She kisses his nose, which she has decided she likes very much. 

Ben chuckles, “You missed.” He presses his lips to hers.

Rey thinks she likes kissing more than most anything. She likes how he cradles her face gently in his huge hand, she likes the tentative dance of his soft lips against hers, she likes the press of his tongue, the soft nip of his teeth. She likes to play with his hair, and scrape her nails across his scalp. She likes to feel his weight on top of her, heavy and soothing and warm. 

Ben pulls off her, and laughs at the snow in her hair. He pulls her back through the tunnel.

“You could be a little gopher,” he tells her, “or you could be a little water skimmer. Float on top of all the snow.”

“Like Jesus?” Rey laughs. “Walking on water?”

Ben nods solemnly and pulls out two wooden instruments. Rey isn’t sure what they are; they look a little like rackets for playing lawn tennis.

He helps her to strap them to her boots, and Rey feels more like a duck than a water skimmer, waddling around the clear bit of the yard, trying to lift her feet high enough. Ben puts on his own pair and leads her to the little snow ramp beyond the barn. They step up and up, until they’re at the surface of the gleaming snow field and Rey’s amazed at how they don’t fall through. They walk out to where the far field would be. Rey imagines the dead grasses deep beneath their feet.

“Top’s firmin’ up a bit,” Ben says. He jumps a little on his rackets and the crust holds. “Reckon the team’ll be able to pull a sleigh over it soon.”

They turn in early and drink hot, peppermint tea after supper while Ben reads aloud from the newspaper. Rey recognizes some of the local society ladies mentioned in the pages, and many of the locations, but New York seems so distant now as to be a dream. 

Ben trims his beard and washes his face while Rey sits atop the pretty quilt, arms around her knees. It’s so cozy and comforting in the little shanty that she nearly forgets her heartache for the Damerons, for the baby that might have come in the storm, and for Finn, lost on the prairie. They could all be dead, for all she knows, and they’re trapped out here, none the wiser.

Ben sidles behind her, pulling her to sit between his legs and wrapping her in his arms. 

“I can’t stand not knowing, Ben,” she says quietly.

“We’ll try tomorrow,” he kisses the back of her head. “Likely as not they’re worried about us too.”

He pulls her to lay down on top of the quilt, though he hasn’t yet extinguished the lamp. They lay for a moment together, basking in the golden light and the heat from the stove. He smoothes her hair and kisses her knuckles, clasped in his large hand. His kisses move to her shoulder, then to her neck, and her worries seem to melt. 

An open-mouthed kiss catches her just behind her ear, and she lets out a soft moan. His teeth dig in.

“Mmm, won’t you let Papa see you again?” He brushes the bottom of her nightgown, slowly pushing it higher until it’s at her waist. Rey lets her legs fall apart, knees angled out. Ben sucks in a breath. His fingers trail along her slit, gathering the moisture that already slicks her inner lips, and comes to rest at the pleasurable nub at the crest. He draws soft circles around it and Rey whines. “Prettiest little clitoris this side of the Mississippi.” His voice is gravelly. 

He seems in no hurry tonight, content to continue his featherlight touch and pull open the front of her nightgown so he can suckle at her breast. Rey trembles as she approaches a very different sort of crisis, a flush spreading across her chest while a molten pleasure reaches slowly for every nerve ending. Lights pop in front of her eyes, but she just keeps climbing, as if there is no peak, just an ever-ascending rapture, and Ben’s mouth, and Ben’s fingers, and Ben’s solid cock weeping against her bare thigh. 

When she comes to, Ben is nibbling her neck and earlobe and dragging his manhood carefully between her soaked lips. The bulbous head catches on her clitoris and Rey lets out a broken sob, which is drawn into a continuous whine as Ben thrusts along her slit, pressing her thighs tight around his member. Rey reaches down to feel the silky shaft bob against her; she presses it to her clitoris and crests a new peak. Her throat feels raw with her cries. 

Ben bites hard on her shoulder, but then pulls himself from between her legs, rolling away as his spend overspills his fist. They pant together, catching their breath.

He rolls away first to fetch a rag. A shudder runs through her when he runs it through her folds. In truth, she wishes he would hold it to her and let her rub against it. Wishes he would call her sweetheart and skewer her with his fingers, coo pretty words at her while he holds her down. She wants him to smother her, consume her, dig his teeth into her soft skin and split her flesh wide with his monstrous cock. 

But he only traps Rey under a large arm (lamp now extinguished) and promptly falls asleep; his deep snores reverberate through her chest. After a moment of hesitation, she wriggles a hand free and works it under her nightgown. The nuns would hit them with switches for self-abuse, but she thinks Ben might not mind so much. 

She drags her small fingers through her still-wet heat, and rubs her palm against her clitoris--  _ the prettiest clitoris this side of the Mississippi _ . Her apology to God leaves her lips as a moan.

The next day dawns bright and cold, which Ben says is a good thing. He spends a good hour of the early morning tromping around the crust of the snow, even taking his snowshoes off to see if it will hold his weight. He readies the sleigh and drapes the horses with saddle blankets, instructs Rey to dress as warmly as she can, wrapping a heavy blanket around her shoulders. He covers their laps with a big buffalo robe. A box filled with hot coals sits at their feet.

Then they’re off, and sitting in the sleigh feels like flying. They slide smoothly over the snow, so unlike the bumps and jolts of the wagon, and the horses prance merrily across the blinding fields. A brief pause at the creek, and they glide effortlessly out onto the open prairie.

“Just gotta avoid the drifts,” Ben says. “We’ll try and stay over the wagon tracks.”

Rey’s face is red with cold and excitement, and she can’t stop grinning. This is better than riding a train, certainly. She understands why Father Christmas would choose such a method of transportation. 

Things go smoothly until they’re nearly within sight of the town. Star takes a jaunting step forward and, without any warning, crashes down through the snow. Ben loosens the reins and narrowly avoids dragging the sleigh in after; Killer stomps his feet and rears back, whinnying, but holds his ground. 

Rey is horrified. “Is he alright?!” She stands to try and get a better look.

“He’ll be fine, just gotta dig him out. It happens.”

Ben unhooks the horse, calming him in a low voice, and then brings out a little shovel and digs around him, stamping the snow to create a firm ramp for Star to climb out. He rights the saddle blankets and hooks him up again to the sleigh. 

“Nearly there.” They finally glide between the most outlying houses. She gasps as they reach the main street. While Rey knew how high the drifts reached to their own shanty, it’s quite a shock to see how they compare to the two-story buildings in town; if she tried, she could nearly look in the second story windows. Small trenches connect between doorways, and little sets of stairs have been carved into the sides to reach the road. A few other sleighs and teams of horses are in the street, along with a handful of men.

“Solo!” A man in comically large snowshoes waves them down. “Thought you were dead and buried in that storm. Must’ve had a rough time of it when you left.”

Ben nods. Another man comes up, and Rey recognizes him as Snap.

“Mighty glad to see you, Solo! And you, Miss Rey! We started cookin’ up a search party to go after you.”

“Fat lot a’ good that’d’ve done ‘em,” the other man says. His face is a bit unpleasant. “As if they’d be worth rescuin’ after three days.”

“Did Finn come back?” Rey cuts in, looking at Snap. “Are the Damerons alright?”

Snap smiles. “All fine, all fine. Reckon they’d like to see you, got a new member of the family for you to meet.”

Rey claps her hands over her mouth and turns to Ben excitedly. “Oh, do let’s go, Ben! Come on!”

Snap laughs, and the other man joins in, somewhat unkindly. Ben glares hard at him, but snaps his reins and when he turns to Rey his eyes crinkle. 

“Oh, I can’t believe it! Finn’s alright, and there’s a new baby!” 

They trot quickly through town and down the way to the Damerons’ homestead. Several of the little ones are in the yard, sliding down snowbanks. They shout when they see the sleigh, and a taller figure pops out the front door to see what the fuss is about. Rose claps her hand over her mouth when she sees them.

Rey jumps from the sleigh and runs to her, crushing her tightly in her arms. Rose sobs in her ear.

“I thought you were dead!”

Rey is crying too. “I was so worried!” She catches her breath. “And Finn, is he--”

“Right here.” Finn has emerged from the house behind Rose, and Rey releases her to wrap him in a hug as well. 

“Oh, Finn, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, out on the prairie--”

Finn chuckles. “Pulled through alright. Man near Minden put me up in his barn when the storm hit, then lent me skis to get the rest of the way! Can you believe it? Gotta go back for my horse at some point.” He ruffles her hair and pulls back to look at her. “We were real worried about you two.” 

Ben walks back from the barn, where he’s been stowing the horses, and they tread carefully into the house, shaking snow off their boots and leaving their wraps in the entrance hall. Pastor Dameron comes to greet them both with hugs.

“God bless you both!” He wipes his eyes. “So many blessings, really. You two, and Finn, and we have a new little one, scared us something fierce, coming during the storm, but mama and baby are doing just fine now, just fine--”

They find Mrs. Dameron in the parlor with a little bundle. She smiles at them, and her bright eyes light up. “Would you like to meet Temiri?”

A baby with a shock of dark hair is swaddled in the blankets, milk drunk and on the verge of falling asleep. He has the pinched, reddish face of newborns, his eyes half-closed and milky blue. Rey thinks he’s perfect.

They take seats in the parlor; Rose pulls Rey onto a handsome, stuffed sofa while Ben takes the armchair to the left. Finn sits in the wooden seat next to Mrs. Dameron. Rose embarks on the rather epic tale of Temiri’s birth: ensuring the other parishioners left the church alright, their own harrowing journey through the snow, and how they had all just gotten home safely in the blizzard when…

She trails off, looking guiltily at Mrs. Dameron, who laughs slyly. “When Temiri came! He was quick enough, in any case. Ought to be, I’m old hat now!” As if to prove her point, Shara and one of the other little girls come into the parlor and sit at their mother’s feet, peering at the baby in her lap. 

“What of your journey, Rey, and Mr. Solo? Everyone was so worried, you’re certainly the farthest out!”

Ben coughs. “We had a rough time of it, getting home. Managed, in the end, but…”

Rose looks at Rey, distressed. “How horrid! And you’re injured, Rey--!”

She points to Rey’s neck, just above her collar. Rey frowns, confused, clapping a hand to the spot. What is Rose talking about? But the recollection comes with dawning horror, of Ben sucking a bruise into her skin, his fingers buried deep in her--

Ben coughs again. “There was some flying debris, when we got out on the prairie. Spooked the horses--”

“You poor dear!” Rose pulls her into a hug; Rey is stiff in her arms.

Conversation drifts to trains, which hadn’t been able to get through the snow banks to make scheduled depot stops. Finn is confident they’ll clear the tracks soon. “Teams of men, shoveling straight from Chicago!”

Rey tunes out, as Temiri’s sweet face pokes through the blankets. He blinks sleepily at her, unseeing, and she can feel her heart melt.

“Rey, would you like to hold him?” Mrs. Dameron asks gently. 

“Oh! Only if you wouldn’t mind--”

She accepts the baby carefully into her lap, holding his tiny head in the crook of her elbow. 

“School’s set to start next week now, barring any more blizzards of course,” Rose is telling her. Rey brightens.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“Ezra Bridger’s a fine lad,” Pastor Dameron says. “He’ll be an excellent teacher. Has designs to matriculate at the university in Omaha.”

“I’ve been reading that mathematics book front to back,” Rey says seriously. “Arithmetic isn’t so bad, and I think I’m beginning to understand fractions.” Ben had been helpful with that, spreading dried beans on the table and splitting them in groups, eyes crinkling when she got an exercise correct.

“Just wait for geometry.” Rose rolls her eyes in apparent frustration.

Temiri gives a small squawk in Rey’s lap and she rocks him gently, giving him her little finger to suckle. He takes to it gummily, eyes drifting shut. Ben smiles softly at them from his chair.

Pastor Dameron smiles too. “You’ll make a pretty little mama someday, Miss Rey. When you find a fella and leave school.”

Rey blushes and looks down at Temiri in her lap again; his mouth has gone slack around her finger and she gently traces his perfect little nose. 

She glances at Ben and is surprised to see his tender expression replaced with a furrowed brow. His mouth is clenched so his full bottom lip puckers slightly. She looks away, slightly stung.

Their visit lasts through a delicious lunch, complete with an apple pie, and then Ben readies the horses while Finn shows them the borrowed skis. He skids across the yard, balanced on thin strips of wood and wielding a staff with a little basket at the end. “Keeps it from sinking through the snow.” He slides down a small bank and makes an awkward about-face, holding his arms up in triumph. Rey and Rose laugh at him.

Ben doesn’t talk much on the way home. They break through the snow once, but even then he digs the horses out in silence and encourages them forward again with the reins. A few words of overture earn only a grunt in return, and she frowns, a sense of unease growing like a ball of lead in her stomach.

They make it back with plenty of daylight remaining, but Rey doesn’t much feel like continuing her gopher tunnels. She sits restlessly in the claim shanty, her attention split between baking bread and reading her school books and knitting a lumpy scarf with yarn gifted to her by Rose. Ben makes himself scarce, walking out past the barn on his snowshoes to accomplish some unknown chore. 

She fries the bacon extra crispy, nearly burnt, just the way Ben likes it, and forms the butter for the rolls into little flowers. A ladies’ magazine at the Damerons’ house had pictures of beautiful, molded butter-- miniature coats of arms and lacey floral designs. Rey doesn’t have a mold, but thinks she did a fine enough job. She sets the table with folded napkins and fills the glass tumblers with cold milk. She tries sitting like a lady, back straight and chin lifted. 

Ben still isn’t back, so she washes her face in the porcelain bowl and unbraids her hair. She wonders if she could style it like Mrs. Dameron’s, pinned up with a beautiful comb…

But she hears Ben on the step, stomping his boots, and so she hurries back in her chair, her hair loose around her shoulders. He shrugs off his jacket and sits heavily across from her, murmuring something unintelligible, tearing the bread and spreading it with butter; he doesn’t comment on the flowers.

Rey can feel herself wilting. She focuses her eyes on her plate, eating steadily. If her eyes burn it’s just from the smoky fire.

He goes to the rocking chair after supper, pulling out a newspaper he got from Finn. Rey dithers. She’s never seen Ben so aloof before; he’s a quiet man, but he always has words for her. Did she do something wrong? 

She never thought silence could hurt worse than a slap.

“Papa?” Her voice is thin and reedy.

He sighs, looking up and then slowly folding his paper. Rey goes to stand beside him. She’s grown used to curling up in his lap, but tonight she perches herself delicately on his knee. After a moment’s hesitation, she holds up her face to be kissed. Ben’s eyes drift to her lips before he leans forward to kiss her briefly on the forehead. 

“I-- Rey--” His voice cracks a little and he stops.

“What’s the matter, Papa? Did I do something--”

He cuts her off. “No, sweetheart, I’m sorry--” He folds her into his arms like he can’t help it, pulling her down into his lap. “I didn’t mean-- I've just been thinkin’, about you and schoolin’ and all.” He pauses. “You’ve been so excited, and you’re such a quick little thing. You could finish school, maybe even go to college, lot of ‘em acceptin’ women these days…”

Rey nods. She’s never thought about going to college, but she’s touched that Ben thinks she could. She doesn’t quite know why it’s making him sad, though. 

He continues.

“I said... well... I told the state I’d be a good--  _ father-- _ to you, and that means ensurin’ you finish school, if you can… and not-- not  _ interferin’-- _ with your chances or--”

Rey has started to see where he’s going with this and she feels a spike of panic.

“No-- no, Papa, you’re not interfering, I-- you--”

Ben sighs deeply. “Rey, I’ve been trying to be a-- a good man. Atone for my mistakes, make things right with God. And I can’t--”

Rey buries her face in his shirt, staining the fabric with tears. She doesn’t want to get between Ben and God, but she couldn’t see how the things they did together were  _ bad _ , not when they were so tender, and so loving…

He holds her and lets her cry, shushing her with a comforting hand on her back. She melts into his touch, and it’s like wrenching her heart in two when he finally pulls away to get ready for bed. They dress silently. 

A fresh wave of tears falls down her cheeks when he rolls to face the chest of drawers instead of pulling her under his arm. She curls up against the wall, falling asleep, for the first time in a long time, outside of his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Heavy petting, frottage, intercrural sex, all with a minor. Very brief non-mention of childbirth.**
> 
> Me writing this: Man, they're gonna ruin that quilt. 
> 
> We'll get more into Ben's sexual history, but this would bother me as a reader, so I, as god of this universe, will declare that Ben has no STIs besides a non-pathogenic strain of HPV and also sometimes he gets cold sores on his lip (read [more](https://slate.com/technology/2019/12/genital-herpes-stigma-history-explained.html) on why herpes stigma is overblown.)
> 
> We're on the pain train now. To be honest, I can't say I'm super happy with how this chapter turned out, but it's a stepping stone to better stuff down the line. Bear with me. 
> 
> Finn's [skis](https://www.newschoolers.com/news/read/History-Skiing-Norwegians-Sporty) (halfway down the page). Also a neat [painting](https://www.alamy.com/us-cavalry-patrolling-yellowstone-on-skis-viewing-an-elk-herd-1880s-image67943494.html) of an 1880's cavalry patrol on skis in Yellowstone.
> 
> Kaydel's [hair](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/404690716511701838/).
> 
> Hope you all are safe and happy! Wish me luck on my coronavirus test :O
> 
> Edit: I do not have COVID!
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

The final days before school starts are miserable to say the least. Rey listlessly reads her books, or knits her scarf, but nothing seems to make her feel any better. She stares at the chinks in the shanty walls, and burns the bottom of the stew with her inattention. 

Ben, for his part, doesn't seem to know what to do with himself either. He spends all day out in the barn, or walking out beyond the far field, and comes back for supper and bed. Their conversation is stilted and sparse, usually small updates on the cows or speculation on the weather.

The book of poetry sits on the rocking chair, untouched.

The night before Rey is to start school, Ben clears his throat and thrusts a small paper sleeve toward her over the table. She opens it to find two wide, glossy ribbons in a bright, cherry red.

"Was gonna give 'em to you earlier, but with all the hullabaloo… Anyhow, thought you could wear 'em to school."

Rey weaves the ribbons delicately between her fingertips. Her eyes well up, but she does her best not to let him see, turning to tuck the ribbons safely in her drawer and then setting upon the dishes with determination. Ben watches her silently from his seat. 

In the morning they anxiously peer at the clouds in the sky before Ben hooks up the horses to the sleigh and they drive off toward town. It's overcast, but the wind is calm, and they make it to town without breaking through once, the snow having hardened and compacted significantly in the week since the blizzard. 

Ben slows the horses in front of the pretty schoolhouse, where Rey can already see Rose and three of the younger Damerons milling about with a few other students. He stares at her for a long moment, fixating on the red ribbons at the ends of her braids, before exiting the sleigh and helping her out the other side.

"You'll do good, sweetheart." She gives him a small, watery smile. "I'll be back at 3 o'clock."

Rose catches Rey up in an excited hug when she reaches them. It's been hardly four days since they last saw each other, but Rose has plenty to chat about. She gives Rey the blow-by-blow of Temiri's entire first week, and updates her on some of Finn's funnier antics on his skis, then passes along the hear-say about the train: apparently they've dug out the tracks halfway from Lincoln. 

They file into the schoolhouse and take seats near the back. Rey looks around at the other students; some she recognizes from church, but others are complete strangers. She and Rose are two of the oldest there. There's an older boy who sits on the opposite side with a piece of straw in his mouth, staring straight ahead.

Mr. Bridger introduces himself and starts the day's prayer, then sets everyone to memorizing passages from Deuteronomy. He then works his way from the youngest students to the oldest, setting the rest of their lessons for the morning. From what Rey can hear, he seems to be a kind and understanding teacher. The few lessons she'd ever received previously were peppered with rods to her palm for mumbling or misreading words. His face is young, certainly he can't be much older than seventeen.

When he reaches Rose, he sets her some geometry problems, which makes her scrunch her nose, as well as a lesson on the geography of Europe. He turns to Rey.

"What sort of schooling have you already had?" 

"Not much, sir. I can read though, sir."

"She reads beautifully," Rose pipes up, then hurriedly turns back to her lesson when Mr. Bridger frowns.

"I see. And mathematics?"

"I've been reading through the textbook, sir. I'm still working at fractions."

He nods and sets her some fractions exercises, as well as the same geography lesson as Rose. 

They're left on their own for the hour, while the younger students recite their lessons for the teacher. There's a small scuffle between two boys and he sits them both in opposite corners, but beside that he doesn't much seem intent on punishment for wrong answers. When he reaches the back row, Rey is ready to recite her fractions, and does passably well on the geography of Europe. The geography reader they have to work from is an old one, and still has all of the separate German principalities. Mr. Bridger gives her a small smile.

At lunchtime they gather their wraps and their lunchpails and gather in the yard. Rey's not sure where to sit, but a loud whistle gets her attention and she turns to find Finn leading the Damerons' large sleigh. They all laugh and pile into the seats to eat.

"How come you're not in school, Finn?" Rey asks between mouthfuls of bread and cold ham. 

Finn bursts out laughing.

"I'm nearly twenty-one, half-pint." He puffs his chest. "A grown man. And I had some schoolin', Poe-- that is, Pastor Dameron-- taught me all sorts a' things back in Texas. I can read and work figures and all."

"You were in Texas?" Rey is intrigued. 

"Raised there, been ridin' horses on the open range since I could walk."

"Pa used to do itinerant missionary work," Rose pipes in. "Saved souls all over the West."

"He convinced me to seek work up in Nebraska, said I could do shorter drives and have a home-cooked meal every Sunday. Never told me about the snow!" His grin splits his face.

Rose laughs merrily. "But if he had you wouldn't have come! And then you'd never have met me!"

"That's true, that's true." He pulls Rose into a one-armed hug, and Rey can see her cheeks redden. She hides her own smile.

They start on penmanship after lunch, and this is the part Rey has truly been dreading. She knows how to write her name, and certainly knows all her letters, but she'd never had much to practice penmanship with. Her hand shakes around her pen and ink blots out from the nib, splattering her paper. 

A deep breath, and she starts tracing out the delicate curlicues and flourishes of the capital letters. The forms are wobbly and inconsistent, but she keeps at it. By the end of the lesson she has a full page. She peeks at Rose's. Her page is full of elegant script, not just individual letters but complete sentences. Rey's cheeks flame in embarrassment and she tries to hide hers with her arm.

Mr. Bridger purses his lips when he sees the lesson, and sets her the same one for tomorrow. They then move on to orthography, which Rey has never heard of, and grammar. She recites the same lessons as little Shara.

By the time the school day is done, Rey feels completely drained. She hoists herself into the sleigh without greeting Ben and leans back to close her eyes. The horses trot across the snow.

"You alright?" She cracks an eyelid to see Ben frowning at her. They skim out of the town and set off across the bright prairie.

Rey nods, and then bursts into tears. 

"I just-- my penmanship is so  _ horrible _ \-- I'm like a little child, and I  _ knew _ I ought to have worried more about that... and, and I don't even know what  _ orthography _ is, or why anyone would even--"

Ben reaches out to pat her back, and Rey leans into him before she remembers that he means not to touch her anymore. She sits rigid in the sleigh seat instead.

"It's your first day, sure it'll get better." He peers sideways at her, where she sits with her arms crossed. "Didn't realize you were so put out about penmanship. If you want, I got a nice enough pen set, and some paper…"

Rey nods miserably, but when they get home and get the horses and the sleigh sorted, Ben pulls out his pen set and some pages marked with lines. He seats her at the table with the shanty shutters cracked for better light and the oil lamp near. Rey takes a pen and dips it in ink, setting it to the page.

"Ah, no, you see, that's your problem there, gotta hold it more like  _ this _ ." He adjusts her grip. "There, now the first part of the letter goes  _ down _ , see, and now make the skinny part with this bit of the nib…"

They work through all the capital letters, and then through the lowercase ones, and then Rey writes her own name a handful of times, and then Ben's, and M'lady's, and Star and Killer and a line of Deuteronomy that she memorized this morning.

The script looks much nicer than her page in class, and she can't help but smile, just a little bit. Ben smiles too, shaking her shoulder. "That's my girl!"

He leaves the shanty to do the nightly milking and she watches him go, her smile fading from her face.

School continues the rest of the week, despite a small snow storm Wednesday evening that adds about a half foot of snow on top of the icy crust. The trains still haven't made it through to the depot, and Rey wonders if this fresh snowfall will require them to dig out the tracks they've already cleared.

The lessons continue as on the first day, and Rey at least progresses past the first penmanship lesson. Orthography still baffles her, and the history of Europe turns out to be far more complicated than she had ever dreamed, but she laughs with the others at lunch and Mr. Bridger never scolds her too badly. She moves on to learning about accumulating interest after she finishes all of her fractions exercises.

Ben seems to be largely back to himself, talking through her lessons with her on the way home from school and helping her with her penmanship at night. She worries out loud once about the horses making the trip to town twice a day, and wonders if she should try to make the trek on her snowshoes, but he shuts the thought down immediately. "It's good exercise for 'em. And I'll not have you wanderin' the prairie all by your lonesome."

On Friday they have a spelling bee. Rey lasts through to the final round, before being felled by "bacciferous." Mr. Bridger seems amazed by how well she does.

"Well done, Rey. Marvelous end to your first week."

Rey blushes and looks down when he smiles at her.

She beams when she tells Ben of her spelling bee performance, and he slaps his knee and guffaws, startling the horses a bit. "Knew you'd beat 'em all out, clever little thing."

They wave at Finn and the Damerons leaving the schoolyard in their sleigh, and then trot on through town. There's a small scrum around the General Store.

"The trains still aren't through?" Rey twists around in the sleigh to look at them all while they pass.

"No, still haven't got the track cleared. Bit of trouble, lotta folks haven't got everything stocked up for winter yet."

"Are we stocked?" They have so much food in the pantry and lean-to and the root cellar, and so much hay in the barn. Rey isn't sure what else they could possibly add.

"We're fine. Still haven't got the pigs slaughtered, gotta go over to Snap's homestead on a clear day sometime."

Rey gets supper started, and is in such a good mood she whisks together the ingredients for a white cake and pours it into a small tin to place in the stove. Rose had whispered the ingredients to her between lessons, and Rey had written them down in careful script in her composition book. 

Ben declares it the best cake he's ever eaten, and makes her spell bacciferous forward and backward until she laughs so hard she falls off her chair. He's immediately picking her off the floor, and she can't help but laugh even more at his concerned face.

They go to bed with a chasm between them, and Rey wishes harder than ever that she might turn over and kiss his face and wrap herself in his arms. Despite the cake and all the laughter, she falls asleep with her heart as heavy as it's ever been.

They see baby Temiri at church on Sunday. Rey makes faces at him all through the sermon and doesn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the verses being read. 

After the service she and Rose wander up the high street in their snowshoes and buy stick candy from a small grocer. The bins of flour and beans are cleared out completely, and Rey feels a bit funny to look at the bare shelves that once held goods. She's experienced hunger in her life, but the scarcity stemmed not so much from goods not around to be had, but from people not wanting to give them to  _ her _ . She takes a lick of the stick candy as they exit the shop; the rest is in a paper bag to be distributed to the little ones. 

"You girlies enjoying your candy?"

Rey whips her head around. The unpleasant man she had seen before with the enormous snowshoes was leaning against the rough board wall of the grocer, a cigarette clutched between his lips.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Hux." Rose grasps Rey determinedly by the elbow and marches them both down the street. 

"Lemme know if you ever need anything else to suck on!" His shout echoes around them, and Rey can see Rose's cheeks grow red as they continue on their way.

"Who is that?" Rey tries to look behind them, but Rose jerks her back.

"Armitage Hux," she spits. "He's got a homestead a ways north with a couple of Bohemians."

"Does he always talk to you like that?"

Rose gives a short nod that doesn't invite further inquiry. Rey makes a note to ask Ben about Mr. Hux later.

Everyone is talking about the trains when they return. There's been persistent bouts of snow that has made it harder for them to dig the tracks out, but it seems the nearest engine isn't more than fifty miles away at this point. 

"We oughta start diggin' from this side." There's a general murmur of agreement.

Rey finds Ben deep in conversation with Snap. She sidles up beside him. 

"Could do Thursday this week, s'long as the weather holds." Ben looks at her. "Think I could drop you off at school about an hour early that day?"

Rey nods up at him, licking her stick candy innocently. He averts his gaze.

School days seem to slide by, leaving Rey tired but with a sense of accomplishment. She does have less time to do chores, but Ben helps out with a few things while she's at school.

Thursday morning sees them up before the sun, wrangling two of the pigs into the sleigh. Rey is too sleepy to really think about where they're taking them, which is probably a good thing, though she's never been as attached to the pigs as she is to the cows. 

The sleigh ride is chillier than usual. By the time they make it to the schoolyard Rey is shivering, though trying hard not to let Ben see and distract him from the task at hand. She waves goodbye and lets herself into the cold schoolhouse, rubbing her hands and contemplating starting a fire in the stove.

To her surprise, the fire is already lit and the room quite toasty. She hangs her wraps by the door and looks around the empty desks just as Mr. Bridger comes in the backdoor carrying a large pail full of coal. 

"Oh! Mr. Bridger, you startled me. I didn't realize you'd be in so early."

He smiles at her and sets the pail next to the stove. "I didn't expect to see you either, Rey. What's got you at school at this hour?"

"My-- Ben-- that is, Mr. Solo-- he's off to do the slaughtering, at Mr. Snap's homestead. Wanted to get an early start of it."

Mr. Bridger nods, feeding a few more pieces of coal into the stove before closing the front hatch. He wipes his fingers on a rag hanging from a hook next to the stove. 

"Well, it'll be nice to have the company. I usually do my own studies before school."

"Are you really going to go to college?" Rey asks eagerly. His eyes light up.

"Yes. In the fall, in Lincoln."

He tells her of the classes he wants to take, of his journey the previous summer to see the campus. "The University Hall, it's like the Parthenon!" 

Rey privately doubts that any building in Lincoln compares at all to the dizzying giants of New York, or indeed to the wonders of ancient Greece, but she keeps this to herself. 

"How do you apply anyhow?"

"There's a test, to make sure you're fit for it. Not so different from the test to graduate, or to get your teaching certificate." He looks at her seriously. "You'd do fine, I think. It's a pity you missed so many years of schooling, but you're real sharp. You'll catch up quick."

She sits with her orthography lesson while he does his own work. He'd explained to her that orthography is just the study of spelling, and the way words are constructed, their historical origins and the standardization of their use. This makes a lot more sense to Rey, and working backward from words she knows she can start to discern the rules. It's a curious way to go about knowing how to spell things; for her, a word simply feels right, or wrong, when she looks at it.

The rest of the school day goes on as normal. She promises Rose she'll ask if she can spend the evening at the Damerons' sometime, if Finn is willing to drive her home after in their sleigh. She helps some of the younger students with their reading, and there's a snowball fight at lunch. Cal Kestis, the older boy who sits in the back, goodnaturedly agrees to throw the younger students one after another into a soft snowbank, though this ends when someone hits their tooth on a hidden bit of ice.

Ben isn't quite back at the end of the day, and Rey sits a bit longer in the classroom, practicing lines with her fine pen from Ben's collection. Finally she hears the clop of the horse's hooves and whoosh of the sled, and stands up to put on her wraps. Mr. Bridger stops her.

"Here," he thrusts out a book in her direction. "I've marked the sections that are tested on the teaching exams, at least. Not a bad start if you want to study on your own."

She flips through the book. It's new, the cut edge fresh. Words jump out at her; lots of Presidents and Territories. A detailed account of the Revolution.

She smiles at him. "Thank you, Mr. Bridger."

She pushes the door open into the cold wind, and jumps in the sleigh next to Ben. He's bundled, but she can still see the barest smudge of blood across one cheekbone.

"Did it go alright?"

He nods. "We'll be set for the winter."

A fresh falling of snow drifts over their tracks as they pull away.

In the middle of the night she wakes quite abruptly to find herself being tugged to the center of the bed. 

"Ben?" she whispers groggily. His breath is deep and even behind her. "Ben?" No answer. 

Her eyelids droop, and she sinks into his warmth.

It blizzards again and they miss church, and then Rey misses two days of school. She tries to set herself lessons instead, working exercises in her mathematics book and starting to read the marked pages in the American history textbook. The walls of the shanty seem to close in on her, alone in mid-day lamplight, shutters closed tight against the squall of the wind. 

She finds Ben in the barn, brushing the horses. She sinks onto a stack of hay.

"Did you ever go to school?"

He's quiet for a moment before answering. "I did."

"Did you have to pass a test, then, at the end? On history and orthology and arithmetic and the like?"

"Didn't finish." His face is obscured by the horse's flank. "I wasn't much of a student. Went to live with my uncle, he taught me useful things. Less Greek and Latin."

Greek and Latin? Rey's brow furrows.

"What did he teach you?" 

"Farmin'. How to work the land. And theology. What it means to be a good man. He was a big ol' abolitionist, used to hide runaways in his barn. Real proud when I joined up."

There's a slight edge of bitterness at the end, and Rey's not sure what it's about. She lapses into silence, watching him walk around to stroke Star's nose. Her attention is at his hands, gentle against the horse's face, the muscles of his forearm tensed beneath his skin, criss-crossed with thick veins. 

"Papa…" she begins. His dark eyes snap up to hold hers, his gaze liquid and burning. 

"Rey…" The word is half despair and full of warning.

A fire rages beneath her skin, desperate for a touch that can quench it. She'd never craved contact before, never had any reason to think it would be given. And now she's like a woman starved; she can't survive on his half-hearted pats and his unacknowledged warmth in the middle of the night. Far from satiating her it makes her want more, more, like some sort of ravenous beast.

Their gaze is like a stand-off, and it almost hurts to look at his face, with his sad eyes and pouted lips. 

He breaks first, sighing and rubbing the back of his head with his huge hand, looking at the ground as he walks out of the barn back to the claim shanty. It doesn't feel like a victory, not at all, and Rey flops back on the haystack, silent tears overrunning her face while M'lady munches hay noisily near her ear, wondering just how many times a heart can survive being ripped in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Verbal sexual harassment. Mention of animal slaughter. Author goes on extensively about orthography. Rey is a sad bean.**
> 
> So I did more specific research into _Nebraskan_ cowboys of this era and found this neat little [source](https://history.nebraska.gov/sites/history.nebraska.gov/files/doc/publications/NH2013Cowboys.pdf), which informed me that I was very inaccurate in chapter four to suggest that Finn would drive cattle down to Northern Colorado; my 21st century Greeley blinders were on, sorry. Many black cowboys did originate from Texas, and I imagine that Finn was born into slavery there right before the Civil War, and then learned the trade.
> 
> Pulling a lot of my prairie school knowledge from the _Little House_ books, and also found this fascinating 1895 8th grade final [exam](https://newrepublic.com/article/79470/1895-8th-grade-final-exam-i-couldnt-pass-it-could-you) which seems so difficult, omg.
> 
> A history of American [spelling bees](https://www.fords.org/blog/post/a-brief-history-of-spelling-bees-in-america/). 
> 
> _bacciferous_ : producing or bearing berries
> 
> Wonderful little [history](https://aeon.co/essays/how-the-us-college-went-from-pitiful-to-powerful) on the origins and evolution of American colleges. A bit about the [founding](https://www.unl.edu/about/history/#:~:text=Chartered%20in%201869%20as%20a,words%20of%20its%20founding%20documents.) of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. ~~The author~~ Poe was confused earlier and thought that The University of Nebraska-Omaha was established first. Creighton University in Omaha _was_ [established](https://www.creighton.edu/about/history) at the time, but was founded by those pesky Catholics, so.
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments, they've been really making my day. 
> 
> Stay safe out there, I know a lot of states are opening up right now but COVID cases have been climbing again. Be careful, and for those of you in school, considering looking into whether your BSA or BGSA have started any campaigns to move towards an unarmed campus police model.
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

The snow clears and they have a full week without storms. Teams of men are reported a few miles out, digging through to the tracks. Finally they are visible on the horizon, behind them the engine chugs, bellowing great, sooty clouds of smoke against the pure white backdrop. 

It arrives at lunchtime, and they all run over from the schoolyard to watch the spectacle, the unloading of boxes and barrels, flour and sugar and salt pork and beef. A full car worth of coal. Rey sees Ben standing with the other men, arms crossed in front of his chest. She hurries over to him, sliding a bit on the icy ground. 

"The town is saved!" 

But he shakes his head. "It's not enough."

Rey supposes this is true; they went over a month without a train, after all, and so many families had yet to stock for the winter. 

"'Nother one'll be through tomorrow, Solo." The man standing beside him claps him on the back. "Don't be such a spoilsport."

School lets out early in all the excitement, and Rey waves goodbye to all of her friends. They head back to the homestead without stopping by the General Store; a line stretches around the block, full of desperate people. Rey cranes her head to watch them as the sleigh slides out of town.

"I hope the train tomorrow makes it through," she says. "It has to."

Ben grunts. "Weather out here," he says, "don't have to do  _ anything _ ."

The next day dawns cloudy, but warm. Icicles drip above Rey's head when she dashes to the sleigh for school; she almost feels she could leave her wraps at home.

"Are you going to wait for the train?"

Ben shakes his head. "I gotta do some more repairs to the barn, now that it's warm enough to hold a hammer for more'n five minutes. And Star and Killer need to be re-shod."

Everyone in school is distracted, and Mr. Bridger raps his ruler more than a few times to try and regain order. He goes so far to whack the thighs of a younger boy who is especially unruly, which is the first time Rey has seen him use any sort of corporal punishment on a student. The boy quiets down and doesn't appear too put out.

At lunch, they take turns craning their necks from the top of a snow drift to see if they can spot the long billow of smoke on the horizon, but none appears. A chilly burst of wind picks up and Rey wraps herself tightly in her shawl, following Rose in scurrying back into the warmth of the building. 

Rey spends the early afternoon buried deep in her American history book, taking notes on the Puritans and the great sermons of Cotton Mather. She dips her pen carefully in her inkwell and smoothly starts to form the letters on her paper. Her writing still isn't quite as nice as Ben's, but it is improving.

A sudden thump on the side of the building makes her look up. Rose looks around in concern next to her. The wind outside has picked up. Even while she listens it increases in volume, until it's screaming against the fine, glass windows set in the sides of the schoolhouse. Snow is buffeted around the building, blowing through small cracks in the roof to trickle down onto their heads. 

Mr. Bridger stands to calm them.

"It's all right, everybody. Back to your lessons."

Rey tries to refocus on King Phillip's war, but the noise is too terrible. It sounds as if the wind is trying to pry the shingles off the roof, desperate to reach them.

Mr. Bridger seems determined to ignore it. He continues with the first grade students, until they're shouting their spelling lessons at him. The room is growing colder, and Rey looks at the stove. There are only a few pieces of coal left in the pail. A family would take it in turn each day to provide fuel; there isn't any extra at the schoolhouse. 

Rose glances at Rey nervously. "Do you think it will get worse?"

Rey looks out the window to see a white out. It's hard to know if it's a sudden squall or just the start of a true blizzard. If the first, they're better off waiting here. If the second…

"I don't know, but we ought to get our wraps on, don't you think? Try and warm them up now."

Rose nods, and they both move to retrieve their things from the row of nails near the door. Mr. Bridger looks up at them.

"Where are you going, girls?"

Rose squeaks and looks at Rey, who replies, "We just wanted to get our wraps, Mr. Bridger. It's chilly in the back."

He fixes her in his gaze for a moment before relenting. A few other students stand up to retrieve theirs as well.

"All right, all right, everyone sit down. We've still an hour left today."

Rey frowns to herself. The storm doesn't appear to be letting up, and it isn't as if anyone can think through the noise of the wind anyhow. She gives up on King Phillip and stares out the window. The light has gone funny, almost a greyish-green.

Mr. Bridger is finally forced to confront the situation when several shingles are pulled free from the roof, letting in odd beams of light into the room and showering a few students with flurries of snow. Rey can feel the chill now, even through her shawl and hat. She pulls on her mittens.

"Well, then, we'll let out early I suppose." He looks at the ceiling, as if at a loss. "Gather your things and we'll all go out together."

Rey and Rose help the littler Damerons, and a few of the other younger students, into their hoods and scarves. Rey reflects in dismay that several seemed to have dressed for the warmer weather, as she had been tempted to this morning. 

When Mr. Bridger forces the door open to the yard, Rey's stomach drops. It's a whiteout, as bad as the time she and Ben made their fateful ride home from the harvest social. If anything it's colder today. Her breath catches in her throat when she breathes; her face feels as though a hundred needles are stabbing at her skin. She pulls Shara close, shielding her face in her skirts. Rose has little Zorii shielded the same way. 

Rey calls to Mr. Bridger over the wind. "We ought to hold hands! Make our way to the main street without losing anyone!"

The schoolhouse is unfortunately situated at the very end of 4th Avenue. It's a long way to the intersection with Main Street, with no buildings close to the street to guide them and many gaps between to wander out into the open prairie. 

Cal Kestis holds his hand out to her and she takes it, telling Shara to hold tight to her and not look into the wind. Rose grabs her other hand. Mr. Bridger stands at the other side of Cal and they start away from the schoolhouse, trying to make as straight a line as they can towards the main street.

The wind steals her breath as they start to walk, wrapping her skirts around her so she stumbles with every step. She hears the many angry, singing voices, furious that she escaped them last time, determined to have her now. 

Her hands grow numb in their mittens and her eyelashes are frosted; she pulls her shawl around to cover her face as much as she can, quickly grabbing Cal's hand again. Shara stumbles along beside her. She isn't certain how much further the little ones can go. Are they going the right direction? It seemed so at the start, but now she's half-turned with every step forward; they could be wandering quite away from Main Street, or just missing the closest buildings, and never even know.

They've been walking for what seems like an eternity, surely they should have reached a building by now? Rey grows numb, putting a foot in front of the other; she can't feel her hands, her arms seem to float, suspended by some unseen support. 

Mr. Bridger and Cal are talking next to her. She realizes they've come to a halt. Mr. Bridger seems to want to turn to the left, which Rey is almost certain is the wrong way. Cal is disagreeing with him. Their words are lost to the wind, but then Cal drops her hand and pulls his cap low over his head, stuffing his hands into his jacket and pushing forward into the wind. Mr. Bridger looks at her, holding out his hand. "This way," he says. They start to move again.

Rey isn't sure what to do; she's quite certain they're heading parallel to Main Street. They stand the chance of running into a house, set far back from the street, but if they don't run into something they'll just keep going until they freeze to death or give up from exhaustion, sinking into snow drifts above the prairie grass. The winds shriek in delight.

She looks around at the direction Cal went. Maybe he'll bring back help.

Her footsteps are sluggish now, her toes long since gone numb. Her eyes squeeze shut, no use to her anyway. Her mind drifts to Ben. He wouldn't have been heading out into this yet, it was too early to pick her up from school. She wonders if he'll look, later, for their bodies.

Her shoulder collides with something hard and unmoving, and her voice catches in her throat. "Here!" she cries, but it doesn't make a sound. "Here!" she screams, and now she can hear it a bit. She yanks her shawl from her mouth, "HERE! A building!"

Mr. Bridger halts and looks around. Rose and the others gather, and they feel their way around the building to the front. The hardware store. They push open the door and pour into the warmth.

The man who owns the store looks up at them, surprised and then relieved. "Thank God you made it. Cal Kestis just told the men at the hotel you'd all wandered off onto the open prairie."

Parents from town make their way to the store to pick up their children, and Rey's not sure what the homesteaders' children will do. She certainly can't make it back to the creek and the claim shanty. 

Finn bursts in after about a half hour, looking worse for wear himself, the horses and the sleigh in front.

"It's clearing a little," he tells them. "We oughta be able to make it home."

Rey goes to hug Rose goodbye, but Rose tuts at her. "Don't be silly, Rey. You'll come with us."

"Are you certain?" She thinks back to Pastor Dameron saying they'd have to put her up in the barn. She doesn't want to take up room they don't have.

Finn cuts in. "Of course! Now get in, horses are chilled to the bone."

The sleigh ride is unpleasant, but Finn seems to have piled every blanket they own onto the seats. Rey sits covered head to toe, arm wrapped around Shara; a box of coals at their feet warms for the first half of the drive, but by the time they arrive her toes are quite numb again.

Rose helps the little girls in and Rey helps Finn with the horses.

"How did you find the way back, Finn? I can't see anything."

He grins at her. "Drove stakes into the snow, every dozen yards or so. Perfect track back!"

Mrs. Dameron fusses over them when they get in, pressing cups of tea into their hands and wringing drenched wraps and hats to hang over the fire. Rose loans Rey a dress to wear while hers dries. It's a bit loose, but warm, on her frame.

Pastor Dameron seems overwrought, hugging them all (even Rey) and tearfully telling Finn that he owes him his childrens' lives. Finn laughs it off, but claps the Pastor on the back and goes to change his own clothes, coming back to sit with them all in front of the fire.

They eat supper and then make popcorn and baked apples, listening to Pastor Dameron read from a book of sermons. Rey's head droops onto Rose's shoulder, and she wakes to prodding in her side. "C'mon," Rose says. "You'll sleep in my bed."

Rose shares a room with Shara, but they each have their own beds, and Rose's is large enough for two. "Ma and Pa thought I could take it with me when I get married," she says, and Rey can see her blush even in the dim light. Rey's thoughts drift to Ben again. He still hasn't made her her own bed, as he'd promised at the beginning. Even now, with things cooled between them…

She drifts off to sleep, thinking of him alone in the shanty. She hopes the bed isn't too cold without her.

The storm continues into the next day, but Rey hardly notices she's having so much fun. Rose is delighted to have a companion and directs Rey in the kitchen like a general, ordering her to peel apples while she makes pastry. They turn out pies and apple doughnuts, and, upon an order from Rose, Finn gathers a tray of clean snow so they can drizzle hot sugar into wild curlicues and messy letters, letting the little girls eat the hard candy when it cools. 

They try to be good students and do a few hours of study in the afternoon. Rey helps Zorii with her letters, and Rose sighs over geometry. Finn joins them when Rey reads a few poems dramatically from a Shakespeare anthology; she strokes the spine lovingly as she holds it.

_Who will believe my verse in time to come_  
_If it were filled with your most high deserts?_  
_Though yet heav'n knows it is but as a tomb_  
_Which hides your life and shows not half your parts._  


The wind continues to blow, and the temperature stays low. Anxiety starts to knot in Rey's stomach. When would Ben be able to get out to town? Would he know where to find her?

Supper is a delicious beef stew with johnny cakes fried in bacon fat. They play charades in front of the fire until bedtime and Rey loses terribly, distracted by a smiling Temiri in her lap; she and Rose giggle under the covers after, discussing whether Mr. Bridger or Cal Kestis would make good husbands. 

"I don't like either of them," Rey declares. "I'd like an older man, someone settled."

"I'm sure Mr. Tarkin would provide for you," Rose teases her. " _ Mrs. Wilhuff Tarkin _ , I can see your calling cards already!"

Rey shoves her and they lapse into breathless laughter. Ben wasn't  _ so _ old, she thinks. Old enough to fight in the war, so he might be thirty-five? More than twice her age, she thinks glumly. 

The snow falls calmly but steadily outside the window.

The next day dawns bright and still, and Rey is certain that Ben will come for her today if he can. She gathers her things from Rose's room and the kitchen, folding the borrowed dress carefully to put it back in Rose's chest. One of her schoolbooks is missing, so she steps out to the barn to look in the sleigh.

It's under one of the seats, next to the empty coal box. She wrinkles her nose at the slight pucker to the pages from the damp.

Low voices sound from around the corner, in one of the empty stalls. They sound slightly odd, breathy, and Rey, curious, hops off the sleigh to investigate. 

It's Pastor Dameron, and Finn, facing away from the entrance to the stall, braced against the wall. Pastor Dameron has his hands on Finn's waist, and Rey's eyes widen when she realizes their trousers are both lowered slightly; they rock together, Pastor Dameron gives a short thrust of his hips and Finn moans quietly in response. The Pastor kisses the back of his head, his neck, whispering something in his ear that makes Finn grin widely before his face crumples in pleasure.

Rey backs away as quietly as she can and edges out of the open barn door. She hurries into the kitchen, trying to gather her things as well as her wits.

She's not sure what to think. Through the shock she registers that what she witnessed was very wrong indeed, for Pastor Dameron is being unfaithful to his wife! And with Finn, too, who is so pure-hearted and doesn't deserve to be-- to be  _ buggered _ like this!

But… however wrong it is, Rey can't possibly tell anyone. She'd known of a few fairy men in the city who were picked up by the police and never seen again, and she can't imagine what would happen out here, what would happen to all the Damerons, if someone found out. No, she mustn't tell; she'll take this to her grave.

Underneath it all, in spite of everything, she is quite overwhelmed by a simple, burning feeling. A riotous, bubbling envy. 

Surely, if Pastor Dameron and Finn could engage in such activities, then she and Ben--!

She shakes her head, that wasn't a productive line of thought. She isn't going to tell Ben, so it won't change his decision anyway, and if anything it only throws into relief the very real consequences of illicit love affairs…

A muffled sound comes from outside, and Rey peers through the kitchen window to see Star and Killer struggle through the snow with the sleigh. Beaming, she throws open the front door.

Ben jumps out of the sleigh while it's still moving, dragging furious footsteps through the drifts until he reaches the cleared porch, pulling her roughly into his arms. 

"Oh, Rey, Rey, you're here, you're alive, oh-- my poor sweetheart--" 

Rey can hardly breathe in his embrace, and her face is pressed into his snow-covered jacket, but she hugs him back as best as she can, and when they finally pull apart she can see he's been crying, his face gaunt and unshaven with swollen, red eyes. A bit of blistery reddish skin adorns parts of his cheeks, and Rey thinks this time he might have gotten frostbite.

"Papa, are you alright?" Alarmed, she pulls him into the kitchen.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I was so worried, that goddamn schoolhouse in the middle of nowhere, who even thought to build it--"

Pastor Dameron and Finn appear at the door and follow in after them, and Rey tugs some of Ben's things off, making him sit at the kitchen table.

"Solo! Good Lord, man, what happened to you?"

"Blizzard-- I couldn't make it through, and just thinking the whole time they'd all wander off into the void--"

Pastor Dameron looks alarmed. "You tried to drive through that storm? Finn here barely made it, and we're not three quarters of a mile from town!"

Rose dashes in from the parlor, followed by Mrs. Dameron carrying the baby. 

"I just couldn't--" At this, Ben folds over himself completely, holding his face in his hands as he cries. Pastor Dameron looks even more alarmed, shooing everyone besides Rey out of the room. Rose and Mrs. Dameron go back to the parlor with their eyebrows raised; Finn heads outside to stable the horses.

"Now you know I don't hold with drink, but just one… for medicinal purposes…"

The Pastor procures a dusty bottle from a high cabinet and pours a bit into a glass jar. Ben grasps it in one hand and knocks it back quickly. 

"It's okay, Papa." Rey holds his hand. "We're all fine."

He nods, looking into her face like he's never seen anything quite like it. Then he clears his throat and looks down.

"Thanks, Dameron," he says. "I'm real sorry, bein' such a mess like this, but you gotta understand,  _ two days _ \--"

"I can't imagine," Pastor Dameron says gravely. "I was a real mess just waiting that afternoon. Finn had to convince me to stay here with the little ones, and Kaydel of course. Wouldn't do for us all to get caught in it."

Ben nods, taking a shuddery breath. 

They stay for lunch, but Rey can feel how anxious Ben is to leave. She gathers her things, hugging all the Damerons and thanking them again and again for letting her stay. They all stand on the porch and wave at the sleigh as it leaves. She's snug in the seat, covered by the buffalo robe and with fresh coals at their feet. Ben pulls her under his arm anyway.

Rey freshens up when they get back to the claim shanty, changing her combinations behind the screen while Ben brushes down the horses. She combs her hair neatly and cleans herself with rose water and soap. Ben stomps into the room, shrugging out of his jacket and taking off his hat. He really does look terrible, hair unkempt and face a mess. He lets Rey fuss over him; she heats some water for the tub so he can wash and shave, and sets aside his sweat-stiff shirt and pants for laundry the next day. She makes bacon and eggs for dinner, with a few pieces of Rose's delectable apple pie for dessert.

She's just clearing the dishes when he pulls her into his lap, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. Smiling sadly, she cups his face with her hand. "I'm okay, Papa." She kisses the tip of his nose. He catches the back of her head and pulls her down to his lips.

They're cracked and rough, but they light Rey on fire. She moans into his embrace, twining her hands around his neck.

Abruptly he stands up, and Rey steadies herself on her feet, stomach already sinking as she prepares for him to say it was a mistake. His hands go to her collar, and she frowns in confusion before realizing he's undoing the buttons there. He pulls one button after another open, until he can slide her dress off onto the floor. 

Her petticoats are next, tied around her waist. They slip like whispers to the rough boards at their feet. Then her corset. He spins her so her back is facing him, pulls at the laces until it's loose and sagging around her torso; the front clasps come undone and this too falls to the floor.

Finally her combinations. His fingers linger at the top button, near the delicate ribbon-trimmed lace. He undoes these buttons slowly, brushing the skin as it's revealed. He pulls the top open when it's unbuttoned enough to bare her breasts. His thumb worries the swell of flesh, fingertips just ghosting over her nipple. He continues with the buttons, tugging the garment so it falls from her hips, leaving her quite naked in the warm air before the stove. 

Rey is breathing hard, unable to believe what's happening, and frozen in his intense gaze. He moves toward her, backing her up to the bed; her knees buckle when she hits it, and she's on her back, looking up at him. 

He pulls his shirt off solemnly, and then he's on her, kissing and mouthing everywhere he can reach. He starts with her neck, her earlobe, down to her collarbone. His hands come up to worry her nipples and she's whining in the back of her throat. He sucks bruising kisses down her torso and across her belly, and then pushes her legs apart so he can settle his mouth right at her quim.

Rey's mouth falls open with an audible pop as Ben starts to lick and suckle at her, enthusiasm bordering on the aggressive, and he pushes her to her crisis quickly; she gasps for breath and tries to right herself through her shudders, but he doesn't let up. He pushes his nose against her clitoris, tonguing lower to capture her slick arousal, and two fingers push into her cunt. 

Rey screams, her full body shaking, but he holds her down with a forearm across her hips, thrusting his fingers faster and faster, sucking hard on her clitoris. Rey is out of her mind with pleasure, like the delirium of a fever. She writhes and curses and shouts in tongues known only to the old gods. 

She reaches her third crisis, but this only eggs him on; he releases her clitoris to suckle hard at her breasts, thrusting another finger into her channel, worrying her clit with his thumb and holding her down with his whole body. Her eyes roll back in her head. 

She becomes aware of his hard member digging into her side; he rubs it against her as he coaxes her through another peak; her throat feels raw from her screams. 

He rears back to straddle her. Fingers still firmly in her cunt, he undoes the front of his trousers and then withdraws his slick-coated hand to pump himself firmly. His head falls back. "God, Rey--"

His spend splatters onto her flushed chest, and he watches it drizzle out with eyes hooded in satisfaction, then collapses next to her on the bed. 

Rey is exhausted, like every climax took something out of her, and she lays there, pliable and utterly docile. Ben nuzzles at her neck again, and drags his fingers through the thick spend on her chest, circling her nipples with the stuff so they become momentarily chilled, and then tight as it dries. It's an odd sensation.

He wraps himself around her and sucks gently at the skin of her neck, like he just wants something to do with his mouth. Her eyelids grow heavy. She doesn't think he's going to clean her up tonight. There's something primal about this, like he's declaring something.

They fall asleep, entwined, in the lamplight. The lamp burns on steadily on until the kerosene runs out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Brief depiction of corporal punishment of a child. Non-graphic anal sex between consenting, adult men. Slightly more dubious dubcon cunnilingus and cum marking with a minor.**  
>    
> Hello, I'm back again! Please don't get used to this update schedule, I'm just on a writing kick and I'm still trying to figure out the Covid questionnaire/entry card system at work, which has given me the excuse to, you know, not go to work. (We're still at 25% capacity anyway, so I imagine my hours will just be shunted to the weekend/next week.)
> 
> The schoolhouse blizzard scene was pretty much lifted directly from _The Long Winter_ , which, if you now have a hankering to go read the original, can be found [here](https://www.yumpu.com/en/document/view/23706095/laura-ingalls-wilder-06-the-long-winter). I'm pretty sure she based it on the [schoolchildren's blizzard](https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/blizzard-brings-tragedy-to-northwest-plains) which didn't actually happen until 1888.
> 
> The [snow candy](https://www.littlehousebooks.com/recipes/snow-candy/) is mentioned in _Little House in the Big Woods_. Thanks to commenter Irma for suggesting I include it!
> 
> The poem is [Sonnet 17](https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/sonnets/sonnet_17/).
> 
> Under New York [sodomy laws](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_history_in_New_York#Sodomy_laws), a conviction for "buggery" could result in a maximum of 10 years in prison. I think it is interesting to consider how the Victorians thought about sexuality, with both compulsory heterosexuality but also quite a lot of wiggle room for same-sex romance; fascinating little think piece [here](https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2017/03/before-straight-and-gay/513812/).
> 
> Also, not sure if this is clear, but all the names are indeed Star Wars characters. I imagine 19th century [Wilhuff Tarkin](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Wilhuff_Tarkin) is a disgraced Prussian general who fled a unified Germany after a spat with [Otto von Bismarck](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Otto_von_Bismarck) and sought to renew his fortunes on the bleak plains of America.
> 
> A word on consent going forward. Rey is going to like everything that happens, but Ben really isn't asking for affirmative consent, and will get a bit more aggressive from here on out. This is fantasy, and he will magically know if she likes things or not. Always get affirmative consent in real life! 
> 
> Love you all <3
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

December begins with more storms, and Ben declares that she won't go to school again until they can be more certain of the weather. Even a trip to church on Sundays is regarded with caution, and several times they call it off due to unpacked snow or a threatening sky. 

Rey misses seeing Rose and her other school friends, but otherwise can't complain too much. She has her schoolbooks and can press on with her lessons. She has the warmth of the barn to escape to when the claim shanty seems too small. And she has Ben, who seems determined to make up for all the kisses he denied her.

She wakes up to kisses in their little bed, kisses over breakfast. He pulls her into the warm barn midmorning to kiss her, breathless and giggling, against the rough boards of the walls. He lays kisses upon the tips of her every finger and upon her nose. They romp in the snow (though Rey's gopher tunnels have long since collapsed) and he kisses the snowflakes from her eyelashes. 

"How many kisses will finally please you, Papa?" she asks cheekily, as he peppers kisses along her neck, her smile so wide it makes her cheeks hurt.

" _ Quaris, quot mihi  _ _ bāsiātiōnēs tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque, _ " he mumbles into her hair, as if reciting something by rote.

Rey demands he explain Latin to her and he sighs, pulling out a piece of paper to start on the declensions. 

In the evening they sit near the cozy stove, hot tea clasped in their hands, and Rey explains the rest of the day's lessons to him. She has progressed on to geometry, which, despite Rose's moaning, isn't so terrible. In her history textbook she's read up until the Revolution, and, to her delight, she finds a poem detailing the ride of one Paul Revere. She reads it to Ben, gesticulating wildly.

"Mr. Longfellow is it? Hmm…" he trails off until Rey prods him. He looks at the book, frowning. "Think my mother knew him."

"Really?" Rey is intrigued. 

"Think so. He and Mr. Sumner were real good friends, and Mr. Sumner came 'round all the time."

After supper they sit together in the rocking chair and Ben kisses her some more. Long, slow kisses, in which he teases her lips with his teeth, flicks out his tongue until she tentatively touches it with her own. He caresses her back, holds her waist in his hands, cups her head in his palm. 

Sometimes they move to the bed and Ben kisses her all over, nudging his nose between her thighs again. Sometimes they stay sitting, mostly clothed, in the rocking chair, and Rey parts her legs for him and he drops his hand down to tease her little clitoris with his huge fingers. Sometimes Ben makes her recite her lessons while he's up to the knuckle in her cunt, and laughs at her when she fumbles the spelling of simple words. 

She can't be mad at him, not when he mutters in her ear. 

"You're like to be the cleverest girl in all of Nebraska." He mouths gently at the side of her neck, crooking his fingers within her. "And the prettiest girl the plains have ever seen."

He finishes himself with his hand and they go to bed, curled up under the quilt, listening to the quiet of the snow, or the shriek of the wind.

Rey traces his nose, his eyelids, with a delicate fingertip. She smooths her thumb along his lower lip, and drags her fingernails gently along his jaw. 

Once, when she's convinced he's asleep, she kisses his cheeks and whispers quickly, "I love you, Papa."

She closes her eyes before she can see the quick upturn of his lips.

Rey starts to make cakes and candies to pass the time during blizzards, when the wind is howling too loudly to properly concentrate on her lessons. She makes the little fairy cakes that Rose showed her, and then a rather failed little pie; the molasses filling oozes out over the top and the crust is not flaky and crisp as Rose's had been, but dense and chewy. Ben gamely eats it and compliments her bravery in trying new things. 

There's always plenty of snow to be had, so she makes the snow candy again, trying a few times to get the temperature of the sugar right. Ben tries a piece, but says he's not one for hard candy usually, so Rey has a little stash to suck on. Ben watches her, frowning, and spends the rest of the day in an odd mood. 

A few days before Christmas, Rey makes scones and clotted cream, and finds a precious jar of cherry preserves in the root cellar. She figures they deserve a treat, since it's unlikely they'll make it to the church for service; the blizzards have blurred together into one dull roar. Ben finishes quickly in the barn and comes back in a swirl of snow, stamping his feet at the door and rubbing his chapped hands together. 

"It's a frigid one." He pulls off his jacket and hat, hanging them by the door, and takes the warm, wet rag that Rey offers him to mop his brow and scrub his nails. "What's this?"

"Scones!" She arranges one on a plate, broken in half with the jam and clotted cream spread smoothly over the crumb, just as she'd seen in a magazine illustration once. 

He takes a bite and groans. "'S good," he says thickly through a mouthful. Rey beams at him and takes a bite of her own. The scone recipe is from a periodical which Rey had carefully clipped and pasted into her composition book, alongside her history notes and mathematics exercises. She'll have to share it with Rose when she sees her again. A bit of clotted cream drops to her finger in her absentmindedness, and Rey hurries to lick it off.

Ben studies her while she finishes her scone. 

"Unbutton your blouse," he says quietly.

"Hmm?" She doesn't register what he's said, still chewing the last bit of her scone.

"Your blouse," he says again. "Unbutton it."

"Oh." Her hands drift to the button at her throat. Is this a game? She's left off her corset in any case; it gets stuffy next to the stove.

Ben watches her with dark eyes as she unbuttons the row. "Your undershirt too."

Rey fumbles at the frilly lace of her combinations, until she's unbuttoned down to her waist, the fabric hanging loosely in front of her chest. Ben pulls her up to stand in front of him, his hands finding their way to rest on her hips beneath the fabric, brushing up slowly to bare her breasts, which pebble as he leans back to admire them.

"Decided I want seconds."

He reaches for the jar of clotted cream, and the butter knife Rey used to spread the jam and cream over the scones. He lifts a small amount on the edge of the butter knife and brings it to her left nipple, smoothing a dollop onto the peak. The cool, blunt edge of the metal scrapes at her skin and Rey shivers.

Ben turns to the cherry preserves and dips the knife in this jar as well before bringing it to her other nipple. The jam doesn't stay on her breast as well as the clotted cream, and a drip slides down to her belly. Ben leans forward to catch it on his tongue.

Rey lets out a shaky breath as he follows the thin line of cherry upward, coming to suckle at her teat sweetly. He rakes his teeth against her nipple and she gasps as she twines her hands in his hair. 

Ben tugs her closer with his hands grasped tightly around her waist, moving his mouth to her other breast where he proceeds to lick the cream decadently, almost obscenely, from her skin. 

Rey whines when he pulls back with a small pop. Ben smirks up at her.

"Well, I'm real full now."

Rey pouts, but goes to re-button herself. Ben stops her with a hand to her arm.

"Now just one minute, sweetheart." His legs spread wider in the chair and his hands go to the fly of his trousers, pulling his cock out to rest in his palm. "You oughta have seconds too."

Rey takes the butter knife that he offers her, and the proffered jar of clotted cream. Unsure, she tentatively brings a bit of cream to the bulbous, mushroom head. It jumps of its own accord as she spreads it. 

"Mm, get it down the shaft too."

She trails the knife down, trying to spread the cream all along the hard length of him. When she's done, she looks at Ben; he cups her jaw and runs his thumb against her bottom lip, pushing in slightly to rest on her tongue.

"Best lick it off now."

To get her mouth close enough to him, Rey has to kneel on the floor; her skirt and petticoats cushion her knees from the rough wood boards. She considers how to begin, darting her tongue out to lap at the cream at the very tip. 

It's not so bad, she thinks as she slides her tongue over him, pursing her lips to suck a bit of cream into her mouth. His skin is very smooth, and he smells-- it's hard to describe, an earthy manliness perhaps, comforting and arousing. 

Ben groans when she tongues the underside of the head, his hand coming up to rest lightly on the back of her skull.

"That's it, sweetheart, open up now." 

He pushes his cock gently into her mouth, and Rey tries to stretch her jaw as wide as she can, to accommodate his girth. The sweet taste of the cream rests on her tongue and she can't help but to swallow it down, her throat catching on the smooth skin. She looks up at him through watery eyes and he seems to lose it, threading his grip into her hair and using his other hand to grasp the base of his member.

Rey resumes licking, a bit more enthusiastically now, down and around the shaft, coming up to suckle at the head again and again. 

"Yes-- sweetheart-- get all the cream, off Papa's--"

Ben holds her hair tightly in his fist and pushes his cock as far into her mouth as it'll go. Rey gags a little, but he loosens up so she can breathe, and then something thick and salty is on her tongue. She swallows it reflexively, wrinkling her nose a bit at the bitter flavor. She looks up to find Ben staring at her with a wild expression in his eye, his mouth parted. A bit of his spend spills from her lips when he pulls his softening member back, and he catches it on his thumb, pressing it back into her mouth. 

Then he's hauling her up to sit in his lap, and stroking her hair and back, cooing at her that she's a good girl, that she looks so pretty with her lips wrapped around him. Rey squirms, wishing he would drop his hand between her legs, but he seems content to just hold her. She feels wet and sticky, heated, like her skin is too tight. Her nipples sing every time they brush against his shirt and suspenders, perhaps he would lick a bit more cream from them, as he had before...

She pouts even harder when he re-buttons her underwear and blouse. 

The rest of the afternoon is quiet. Rey finishes cooking a bean porridge, and re-reads a ladies' magazine she has on loan from Rose. Ben, for his part, looks impossibly smug as he goes about his usual chores. 

Over supper he rattles off Latin verbs for her and listens to her conjugations. She makes for the rocking chair after they've finished eating, but some surprise chore calls him to the barn, and by the time he returns it's late and she's reading her magazine in bed. 

The dim lamplight casts strange shadows on him while he readies for bed, and once again Rey observes his strong physique. She wonders how the rest of him would taste; those rippling shoulders, the nipples that sit on his strong chest, his powerful legs. His ears, usually hidden by his long hair. How she would love to nibble on them, as he so often does to hers.

Ben dims the lamp and climbs under the quilt with her, resting his head on his pillow. When his breathing starts to deepen, Rey feels a rushing sense of disappointment. She tugs at his arm.

"Papa?" she whispers.

"Mmph." 

She leans up to kiss his lips, wriggling her body against his. "Papa."

He turns so she's trapped in his arms, her back to his front, and she pulls his hand down to her thighs, trying to ruck up her nightgown at the same time. His arm is like an iron vice, and he won't put it where she wants him.

"Papa," she whines, "please touch me."

"Hmm." His voice rumbles in his chest; she can feel it reverberate against her. "No, don't think I will."

"What?" 

Rey isn't even upset, she's just shocked. It's been so long since Ben denied her anything.

"Just... so tired, after today…" He stretches as if to yawn, and his big thigh comes up to rest between her legs. Rey could almost cry in frustration. His skin rests hot against her cunt, and his every movement has her growing wetter. Unable to help herself, she grinds down against him, panting slightly. Ben's mouth finds the shell of her ear. "That's it sweetheart, use Papa's leg."

Does he mean her to--? She grinds down a bit harder, experimenting with the angle so she rubs her clitoris against his firm flesh. Her panting gives way to a low moan. 

She's certain he can feel her wetness against him, her bare cunt weeping so much that she starts to slide just a little. A stifled groan comes from behind her, and despite his declaration that he wouldn't touch her, his big hands come up to find her nipples through her nightgown, pinching and twisting them so that Rey is keening loudly into the dark of the claim shanty. 

Ben's hands entangle in her nightgown and he grunts in frustration, pulling it artlessly up her body and flinging it away to the floor. He wastes no time in groping her gyrating form, palming her breasts, grasping at her hips. 

Rey feels wild and wanton, like a buccaneer riding a bucking stallion, she chases her own pleasure until she peaks with a throaty cry. Ben growls his approval, and then she's turned bodily onto her stomach, the quilt thrown back and his large, hot body pressed over her, his own nightshirt gone to the floor. He palms the soft globes of her bottom, pulling back to give one a sharp smack, which makes her cry out in surprise. It heightens to pleasure as he plunges two fingers into her soaked cunt. 

She can feel his manhood, burning against her backside, and the sheer weight of him on top of her, as he thrusts against her. Would he do it, finally? 

He dips the head between her legs, rubbing along her slit, which is so wet it makes a sound like the thick macaroni cheese she made last week. She widens her legs, drooling into her pillow. Her body is like a live wire; she thinks she could take anything now, and it would be blinding pleasure.

She feels what must be the tip breach her, but then Ben pulls back, working himself wildly while three fingers hook into her cunt, pushing her to scream her release, her poor little clitoris rubbed raw against the sheets. He splatters onto her back a moment later.

Rey feels a small pulse of disappointment, but is otherwise so sated and thrumming with the aftershocks of her pleasure that she barely notices Ben leave the bed until he's back to clean her up with a wetted rag. He coaxes her to drink some water and kisses her tenderly on the forehead, pulling her close under the blankets to stave off the chill of the shanty. 

Christmas Eve sees them walk a ways up the creek in their snowshoes to find a suitable fir tree to decorate. Rey spends a while deciding between two with slightly different coloring. When she asks Ben's opinion, he tells her they look exactly the same, which prompts her to choose the larger one out of spite. He gives her a look but takes out his saw and fells the blue-green pine; Rey helps him carry it back to the homestead, supporting the bouncing tip of the tree. 

They pop popcorn to thread with a needle into a garland and Ben pulls a box from a hidden cupboard that contains a gleaming brass star and a ceramic angel, both hung from fine thread. "My mother's," he says by way of explanation. Rey takes them delicately from the box and rests them in the thickest branches. 

They prepare a fine supper of a trussed goose that Ben had shot out over the prairie, roasted vegetables, and a Victoria sponge. Rey stands back to admire the dishes on their little table, next to the beautiful tree, and beams at Ben. 

"It's perfect, Papa."

His eyes crinkle at the edges and he throws his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side. 

"Merry Christmas, Rey."

He looks very fine tonight, she thinks while attempting to cut her portion of goose politely and put just a small bite on her fork. His hair is combed, and his whiskers freshly trimmed; his black church suit is very fine indeed after so many weeks of nothing but work clothes. Rey, for her part, has put on her nicest dress and tied her hair up in her best approximation of a hairstyle in her ladies' magazine, with her red ribbons in a bow at the top. 

When night falls they nestle a few candle-holders into the branches, lighting them carefully. Ben starts to sing in a low voice:

_God bless ye merry gentlemen,  
Let nothing you dismay_

Rey joins in with her high, sweet voice. 

_Remember Christ our savior was  
Born upon this day_

They segue into  _ Good King Wenceslas  _ and then _ Silent Night _ . Rey wishes fiercely that they might go to church in the morning, but there are flakes falling even now as they sing, and the layers and pockets of snow are too unpredictable to lead horses through until there's a firm crust. She imagines Rose and Finn singing with them, Mr. and Mrs. Dameron, Mr. Snap, and the rest of the parishioners, little Shara's voice piping in too. 

The candles are nearly burned down to stubs by the time Rey collapses into the rocking chair, breathless and laughing from a round of  _ Jingle Bells _ , which Ben conducts with fervor. 

He grins at her before plucking something from the tree branches and dropping it in her lap.

It's a small, flat box of a fine, black leather. Rey's hand comes up to cover her mouth.

"Oh! Presents! I forgot--" She heaves herself out of the chair and rummages through the chest of drawers to find a lumpy paper parcel, which she shoves at Ben. "Merry Christmas!"

He laughs, taking it from her. "C'mon and open yours!"

Rey finds the flat box in the rocking chair, and carefully opens it to reveal a beautiful, sparkling necklace, inlaid with white crystals and adorned with a gleaming pearl. 

"Oh, Papa…" she breathes. 

"For my little dragonfly," Ben says affectionately. "Turn around and I'll help you put it on."

She turns away from him, lifting the trailing braid of her updo off her neck so he can fasten the delicate chain. They have one hand mirror, which is blotchy with age, but she can catch a glimpse of herself wearing the stunning necklace. The complicated metalwork hangs perfectly cradled in the hollow of her throat. 

"Thank you, thank you!" She positively beams at Ben, standing on her toes to pepper his face with kisses. "It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen!"

Ben chuckles and allows her to pull him toward the rocking chair. She perches herself upon his knee and indicates the wrapped parcel. "Open yours!"

His big hands carefully undo the twine wrapped around to reveal a thick, knitted balaclava. Rey fumbles with the wrapping for him, drawing out a piece of cardstock.

"I transcribed a poem for you, too," she says shyly. "From one of the Damerons' books. I could read it, if you like…"

"'Course I'd like it, sweetheart," he says gruffly, holding the balaclava in his hands. Rey briefly meets his gaze, soft but penetrating, and then clears her throat to begin.

_My heart is like a singing bird  
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;  
My heart is like an apple-tree  
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;  
My heart is like a rainbow shell  
That paddles in a halcyon sea;_

She pauses, looking at him again, before stuttering through the next two lines.

_My heart is gladder than all these  
Because my love is come to me._

Ben seems to be blinking rapidly when she looks up again, his grin so wide it hurts her own cheeks to look at. She draws a breath.

"Papa, I love--"

He cuts her off with a heavy kiss, hands coming up to cradle her head, the balaclava clutched in his fist mussing her pretty hair. 

He pulls back to meet her with an achingly serious gaze. "I love you more than anything, sweetheart." 

He stands and scoops her off her feet so she has to cling tightly to his neck, and carries her to bed.

_Raise me a dais of silk and down;  
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;  
Carye it in doves and pomegranates,  
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;  
Work it in gold and silver grapes,  
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;  
Because the birthday of my life  
Is come, my love is come to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Butter knife play (???), vaginal fingering, dry humping, a mildly coercive blowjob, all with a minor. Poetry. Undetectable quantities of plot.**
> 
> Welp, I have committed the cardinal sin of fanfiction, and used the word "smirk." My sincerest apologies.
> 
> The Latin bit is from [_Catallus 7_](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Translation:Catullus_7), and translates 'You ask, my Lesbia, how many of your kisses are enough and more than enough for me.'  
>    
> The poem at the end is [A Birthday](https://interestingliterature.com/2016/11/a-short-analysis-of-christina-rossettis-a-birthday/) by Christina Rossetti.
> 
> [ _The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere_](https://poets.org/poem/paul-reveres-ride) was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1860 and contains a number of historical [inaccuracies](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Revere%27s_Ride), but is largely credited with creating the national legend of Paul Revere, who until that time was more of a regional personality (his obituary did not even mention his midnight ride.) It was not until the Colonial Revival Movement of the 1870s that Paul Revere became the figure he is today, and I feel that Rey's brand-spanking-new history book would have been part of that.
> 
> [Charles Sumner](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Sumner) was an abolitionist Senator from the state of Massachusetts who was nearly caned to death on the Senate floor by South Carolina congressman Preston Brooks after Sumner delivered an anti-slavery speech "The Crime Against Kansas." The incident led to significant polarization of the country, in part contributing to the tensions that sparked the Civil War. 
> 
> Brief histories of [Christmas Trees](https://www.townandcountrymag.com/society/tradition/a25619292/queen-victoria-prince-albert-christmas-tree-holiday-tradition/) and [Christmas Carols](https://www.historyextra.com/period/victorian/christmas-songs-carols-history-singing/). _Good King Wenceslas_ wasn't even thirty years old at this point; I imagine it was the _All I Want for Christmas_ of its time.
> 
> [Bean Porridge](http://www.pioneergirl.com/blog/archives/7196) is mentioned in _Little House on the Prairie_. Macaroni and cheese already existed in its Victorian [incarnation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lojYRX8qC9o) so I feel that the [comparison](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnbGumHjvIE) to the sound of a soaking wet pussy is valid for Rey to make.
> 
> Rey's [hairdo](http://loepsie.com/2016/04/1870s-hair-bow/), complete with an 1870's magazine hair tutorial! Would y'all hate me if I told you this is what Ben's [whiskers](http://wicked-portland.com/assets/02ch02/20-bourne-young-ohs-a.jpg) look like? (Jk, I don't think Adam Driver is actually capable of growing this level of facial hair luxury.)
> 
> Rey's [necklace](https://www.vermaestatejewelry.com/products/1870s-dragonfly).
> 
> I do have a question about tagging. I had been updating tags as things happened, but I realize for some spicy plot points this maybe doesn't serve readers very well. I've updated to include "Future Pregnancy" as I can see this could be particularly sensitive. Do people feel strongly about how other future (potentially sensitive) plot points are handled? Keeping in mind that while I have the general plot mapped out I'm still writing and posting this in real time and things are subject to change. I'll keep posting the content warnings in the end notes regardless.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy, love you all <3
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

The new year dawns bright and cold, and Rey improvises additional layers under her skirts, even in the claim shanty. A hard crust forms over top of the drifts and Ben says they might try to go to town again for service, after weeks away.

They load up the sleigh early Sunday morning to glide over vast ice sheets in the still, frigid air. Rey breaths through her ice crusted shawl, eyes squinting beneath her hat pulled low. Ben wears his new balaclava, looking a bit like a scarecrow as he drives the team. The prairie is quiet, except for the scrape of the sleigh on the ice; even the birds are silent. The great blanket of snow muffles everything. It's chillingly beautiful, Rey thinks, and yet somehow more eerie than the many, angry voices of the wind during blizzards. They skate over nothingness, hardly leaving tracks.

Driving into town is eerier still; no one is in the street to greet them and the shutters are all pulled tightly shut. Ben pulls them to a halt at the church, helping Rey out and heading off again to stable the horses in the barn of a nearby acquaintance. 

The inside is cold, nearly as cold as on the prairie. A small knot of women is huddled around the stove and she hurries over to them; Rose looks around to greet her.

"Rey!"

Rey greets her wordlessly, waving a mittened hand and crowding in to get her share of the warmth; she can barely feel it through her wraps.

"Pa'll be here in a moment," Rose says, "and Finn's bringing Ma and the little ones a bit later, once we get the church warmed up." 

Rey thinks privately that might be too tall an order, but holds her tongue, tugging her ice-stiff shawl away from her raw face. One of the other women adds another shovel full of coal to the stove.

Old lady Maz brings a carefully wrapped kettle full of hot tea, and they all sip gratefully while their menfolk trickle in. Ben stomps his boots at the door and walks straight over to Rey, draping a blanket from the sleigh around her shoulders, rubbing her arms briskly until she catches his eye. He drops his hands and makes a speedy retreat, looking around as if for something to do before settling on shoveling more coal into a pail for the stove.

"He's awful sweet to you," Mrs. Syndulla says to Rey. "Never thought I'd see Ben Solo take so well to fathering."

Rey can't think of anything to say to this so she simply smiles and nods, holding her hands out closer to the heat.

Pastor Dameron breezes in as he always does, and the church seems a few degrees warmer just by virtue of his presence. They all gather into the pews, sitting a bit closer than they would have normally, and sing a few hymns while stomping their feet. A pause, and then Mr. Snap starts " _Fa, sol, la, mi…_ " 

Another man starts to harmonize the low notes, then Rose joins in with her clear soprano. Rey adds her voice to the growing din; she can't help but smile when she picks out Ben's low croak among the parishioners.

_Farewell, vain world! I'm going home!  
My savior smiles and bids me come,  
And I don't care to stay here long!_

The little church does start to warm, and Rey sees Finn and Mrs. Dameron shepherding the littler Damerons down the aisle into their seats at the front. She waves at Shara and Zorii. 

_Right up yonder, Christians, away up yonder,  
O, yes my Lord, for I don't care to stay here long._

Finn comes to stand next to her and Rose, layering in his deep voice. He grins down at Rose and Rey is seized by the memory of him in the barn with Pastor Dameron. 

_I'm glad that I am born to die,  
From grief and woe my soul shall fly,  
And I don't care to stay here long!_

They all end on a jubilant note before settling themselves in for the sermon; a few coughs punctuate the quiet shuffling. 

Pastor Dameron contemplates them from the pulpit.

"I had attempted," he starts, "to find a good Bible story that might speak to our current trials. Alas," here he grins, "the Holy Land is of a more temperate climate, and I found little in the way of blizzards."

The congregation laughs.

"But! I certainly found plenty of deserts, and what is our ice-locked prairie but a desert? We are isolated out here, in the wilderness, as Jesus was– led out into the desert by the Spirit to be tempted by the devil.

"In Matthew 4 we read: 'After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, "If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread." Jesus answered, "It is written: 'Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.'"'"

He looks at them all solemnly. Rey glances around at her fellow congregants; now that people have removed the top layers of their wraps, she can see their gaunt faces, pinched and chilblained from the cold. And most of them thinner too… Have people started to go hungry? She swallows down a sense of rising horror.

"We are far luckier than Jesus," the Pastor continues, "for he was alone in his trials. He faced the temptations of the devil, lonesome and starving. We are not alone, even when the snow whites out the space between our homes. We are the spark that will light the fire of the Kingdom of Heaven, that will give warmth to mankind and feed him on the word of the Lord. As we warm our church through prayer and song, let us warm our hearts and our bonds, and feast upon the love we feel for our brothers and sisters in Christ."

There's a luncheon after the service, but for once Rey isn't hungry. She hangs back with Ben, who lays a warm hand on her shoulder.

"We should've brought something to share," Rey mutters to him.

"We shoulda," he agrees. "Didn't think it was this bad."

Rey nibbles on a johnny cake to avoid being rude, and surreptitiously passes it to little Zorii, who's a bit too pale for her liking, when she thinks no one is looking. She settles in to talk to Rose and Finn while Ben walks over to talk to Mr. Snap about something that seems important.

"How have you all been?" Rey tries to keep the concern in her voice to a minimum.

"We've been fine," Rose says, smiling. Her face is tired. "We had mostly stocked up before the last train, just a bit short on coal. But Finn and Pa went out to fell a few trees, so we have plenty of wood now." She lowers her voice, looking around. "Pa's been trying to help out the congregation, you know, but we only have so much to give."

Rey thinks of all the vegetables stocked in their cellar, the barrels of beef and salted pork, the wheels of hard cheese, the flour, sugar, even the seed potatoes. For the first time in her life, she's not remotely worried about going hungry.

"Cal heard tell of a grain elevator near Superior, chock full of wheat," Finn says. "We were thinkin' of driving out, trying to buy some to bring back. Hardly anyone around there to eat it anyhow."

"How far away is Superior?" Rey asks. Finn shrugs.

"'Bout thirty miles. It's doable."

Thirty miles. She and Ben are four, maybe five miles from town? Her fingers and toes are always numb by the time they arrive. Rey can't imagine driving thirty miles in this sort of cold.

The luncheon winds down. Ben finds her near the door, putting on her wraps.

"I gotta, er, go do somethin'," he says somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head and not quite meeting her eye.

"Alright?" Rey creases her brow. "I can go get the horses ready if you like."

Ben nods. "They're in Caleb Dume's barn, over on Third. You can find it?"

"Mm-hmm." Rey nods. He nods back and then heads out the door behind the others, glancing rather shiftily at the other parishioners leaving the church.

Rey watches him leave, frowning. She gathers her things, bundling up tightly against the cold, and bidding the Damerons goodbye. Third avenue is just a few blocks to the east; she picks her way through the icy streets, clutching the sleigh blanket around her shoulders. What was Ben up to that he didn't want her to know?

She finds the barn easily enough, and Star and Killer whinny softly when they see her, their saddle blankets still resting on their backs. She finds their harnesses hanging on the wall and sets to buckling straps and adjusting bridles.

"Rey?"

Mr. Bridger stands in the open barn door. 

"Oh! Mr. Bridger! What are you doing here?" She smiles broadly at him; it's been nearly two months since she last saw him during that terrible blizzard.

"I live with Mr. Dume," he says, smiling back. "I see you know these fine horses."

"Yes, they're Mr. Solo's," she replies. "I'm just hooking them up to the sleigh while he runs an errand." Of some sort.

Mr. Bridger nods. "How have you been getting on with your schoolwork? Not that you've ever really needed my help, but I– we've missed you in class."

"That's awful kind of you to say." Rey strokes Star's nose. "I've been getting on well, got through most of the geometry exercises and I'm finished with all the sections you marked in the history book. And Ben's been teaching me Latin!"

Mr. Bridger grins at her. 

"You'll do real well on the state exam, I've no doubt." He moves around Killer's side to help her pull the harness over his back. "You can keep the history book if you like, lots of interesting bits I didn't mark too."

Rey smiles sheepishly. "I know, I've been going back through. Mostly just reading more about the war, I never knew there were so many battles! All of them back East, of course, but–"

"Nah, the Union fought out here, too. Mostly the Indians, but some Confederates, down in Texas. Battle of Palmito Ranch. Closest to here's probably in Colorado, Battle of Sand Creek–"

"That wasn't a battle."

Rey turns to find Ben in the door, staring at them, an odd expression on his face.

Mr. Bridger looks confused. "Oh, Mr. Solo, hello. I mean it  _ is _ the textbook, so–"

Ben's face gets even stonier. He walks over to lead the horses out to the sleigh. "Can't trust everything you read in a book, son." 

Rey hurries after him, waving goodbye to Mr. Bridger with a slightly apologetic smile on her face. "See you around!" He stares after them, nonplussed.

The sleigh ride home is smooth and cold, but Rey barely notices. She opens her mouth, "What did you mean – "

"You know anything about Armitage Hux?"

Rey reels back, even more confused. "What?"

"Armitage Hux."

"I – I met him, once, with Rose. She seemed not to like him much at all."

"Passed by the saloon just now, and one of the, uh, ladies, had a bit of a – a run-in with him. Real nasty piece of work. Just.. just steer clear if you do see him, alright?"

"One of the ladies?" Did Ben mean one of the prostitutes? "A run-in – you mean, did he hurt her?"

He nods. "Looked pretty bad, she was real shook up."

Rey is upset. "Well, does the Sheriff know? He oughta go after him!"

Ben laughs, but there's no humor in it. "The Sheriff doesn't do the bidding of saloon girls. In his view the worst Hux did was steal from her."

Rey is quiet, fuming over this and thinking of the fear with which Rose had reacted to Hux when they saw him. What was to stop him from having a 'run-in' with another girl, in the saloon or not?

Ben clears his throat. "Talked to Snap, we're gonna butcher our remaining hogs, even if they're a little on the small side. Distribute the meat amongst the congregation. We'll save on feed in any case."

"Is it enough?" Rey thinks of all the gaunt faces in the pews.

"No," Ben sighs. "But it's something."

The following Saturday sees them strapping the last two pigs into the sleigh. Ben drops Rey off at the Damerons' place, which is only a short detour from the track to Mr. Snap's homestead, and skids away, pigs squealing.

Rose throws open the door to the kitchen, beaming from ear to ear, pulling Rey in and immediately setting her to work helping to bake a cake.

They spend a pleasant morning together, catching up. Rose tells her some of the gossip from school, and Mrs. Dameron comes into the kitchen while the cake is baking. She does up Rey's hair in a sophisticated chignon while Rey entertains a smiling Temiri in her lap. Shara begs her mother to do her hair next, and Mrs. Dameron's fingers fly as she weaves intricate braids. Kes, the two-year-old, toddles through their legs until Rose hoists him on her hip. 

"Where's Zorii?"

Mrs. Dameron tsks. "She was feeling poorly, so I let her stay in bed. I'll take a bit of broth and a pan of coals up to her in a bit."

Finn comes in for lunch and they while away the afternoon with his fiddle. Rey can't stop laughing, clapping with delight in time with his jaunty tune. This is the happiest she's ever felt on this, of all days…

They prod her to read something from the Shakespeare anthology, and she picks a dramatic monologue, composing her face and injecting a low timbre into her voice.

_ Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves... _

There's a commotion in the yard, but she reads on, scowling and grasping at the heavens with a clenched hand.

_I have bedimm'd  
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,  
And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault  
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder  
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak  
With his own bolt_

She glances up to see Ben standing in the door to the parlor, watching her with something akin to quiet awe. She holds his gaze, barely glancing at the text as she finishes the speech.

_I'll break my staff,  
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,  
And deeper than did ever plummet sound,  
I'll drown my book._

Rey goes out into the yard with the rest of them to help roll the barrels of salt pork into the barn, to be distributed the next day after church. To her surprise, Ben leads her back into the house once they've finished; Rose is standing there with the cake, several small candles pushed into the top layer and flickering merrily.

"Happy birthday!"

There's a sudden whirlwind of exclamations and congratulations, and Rey is momentarily stunned, trying to paste a smile on her face and gather her wits enough to blow out the candles. They all gather in the kitchen to eat the cake; even Zorii comes down, wrapped tightly in a blanket, to have a slice. Rey is sure it's delicious, just like everything Rose bakes, but it tastes like ash in her mouth.

Ben is quiet on the sleigh ride home, occasionally glancing sideways at her where she sits, tense, in the seat.

"How did you know?" she asks finally.

"It was on the paperwork from the Aid Society." He edges the horses forward. "I'm sorry, guess I shoulda asked you before I told Rose. Just thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"It's– it's not my real birthday." Her voice trails off into nothingness. She takes a deep breath. "I don't know my real birthday."

Ben nods, like he should've expected as much. "How– I mean, you know, how'd you come to…"

He trails off too, looking uncertain. Rey knows what he's trying to ask.

"They left me on the docks," she says quietly. "My parents, I think. I just remember a ship sailing away, and a hand pulling me back. Big greasy dock worker named Plutt. He made me shuck oysters for him, til the police picked him up for racketeering. I would've waited on those docks forever, I was so convinced they would come back."

Ben throws his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him. She buries her face in his jacket; protected from the cold air her tears don't freeze to her face. 

They have a quiet supper of elk stew. Rey's lost in memories of the docks, how much her hands ached after hours and days of shucking oysters. The first orphanage had seemed like paradise after that, until she got lashed bad enough to run away.

Ben pulls her to sit with him in the rocking chair, kissing her head tenderly and stroking her back with his big hands.

"Is there anything I can– can do? Make you feel a bit better?"

Rey considers this, nearly telling him that she already feels better, just by virtue of his presence, his gentle touch. But then she considers things she's wanted, hasn't yet had…

"I want to touch you."

He laughs at her, surprised. "'Course, sweetheart, anytime–"

"No," she looks him in the eye. " _I_ want to touch _you_."

His eyebrows raise. "Alright."

She alights from his lap, walking in a full lap around the rocking chair, observing his every angle. Her hands tangle in his hair, trailing down his neck and across his broad shoulders. She smooths her palms down his chest, toying with his suspenders.

His skin is smooth and pale when his buttons come undone and his shirt is pushed off his back. Rey is distracted by the bulging muscles in his arms; she draws her fingernails along the veins there until Ben shivers and her gaze is drawn back to his face. His pupils are blown wide, so his eyes look almost completely black in the dim light. She moves to caress his nose, his mouth. Straddling his hips she moves to press kisses along his jaw, flicking her tongue over his earlobe while her thumbs tease his hard nipples. A low moan escapes him, and, grinning, she sucks hard at his neck.

Pulling him to his feet, she makes him disrobe completely. His manhood stands at attention, and she dances her touch around his groin, never making contact where he wants her most. The muscles of his back ripple when he reaches for her, but she bats his hand away and draws light scratches across his skin, raising red lines in her wake. His bottom she firmly cups; she can feel his tension here and it makes her wrap her arms around him from behind, nuzzling her face against his spine, darting her tongue out to taste him. Finally– finally– she grasps his cock in her hand, pumping a few times before dropping down to cradle his sac. 

"Rey," he groans. "Let me–"

But she drops her hand and moves around to push him to lie on the bed. He makes a pretty picture, lying there, hard as a rock, gaping at her. She fumbles with the buttons of her dress, struggles with her corset. Her combinations she undoes more slowly, stalking toward him while baring her chest, sliding the garment as sensuously as she can off her body.

"Do you like my tits, Papa?" She grins at him as she climbs on the bed to straddle him.

"Yes," he gasps.

She leans forward to dangle her teat in front of his mouth; he surges up to latch onto her breast, suckling like a man starved. Her cunt slides across the hard plane of his stomach and she grinds down as best she can, seeking friction against her heated core. She can just feel him poking her in the bottom; she reaches her hand back to cup him again, dragging some of her wetness to get a better glide.

Ben pops off her breast, eyes bulging and breath coming in quick pants. Her own peak seems to be quick approaching. She sits up, angling her hand to position his cock at her slick entrance–

Quick as a flash, Ben has their positions reversed, and Rey blinks up in confusion at the tar paper ceiling. What is he doing? He climbs off the bed, muttering to himself, his cock bobbing with every step. There's a general shuffling near his saddle bag and then he's back, peering down at her. He fiddles with something near his groin, a sort of pliable tube, which he pushes down his cock and secures with a bit of ribbon near the base. 

"Ben?"

He kneels on the bed, leaning down to kiss her, before flipping them again so she straddles him once more.

"Just– if you want to, sweetheart. It'll be– safer– for you."

She kisses him again and his arm finds its way around her waist to push two and then three fingers into her cunt, pumping them into her until she's wailing, shaking in her crisis. 

Blurrily she sits up, leaning back against his tented knees and spreading her lips to fit the thick shaft against her slit. Determined, she sinks down onto him.

It knocks her breath out. He's so big, it feels like he fills all the empty space within her, and when he thrusts up gently it forces a quick gasp to escape her lips. It's deep, so deep, deeper inside her than she thought was possible. The stretch verges on uncomfortable, and yet it touches something within her that zings along her skin like electricity.

"Do you– hngh– like it sweetheart?" His eyes are glazed and his face red, but he watches her with great concern, moving his thumb to her clitoris to rub there in time with his thrusts.

All that Rey can manage is a warbled moan in response, her vision is blurring as his thrusts come faster and faster until her back arches on top of him and a broken scream cracks through her throat. 

Ben pulls her down to kiss her mouth as he thrusts hard inside her, a hand on her bottom holding her flush against him as he climaxes with a deep shout. 

They lay together, catching their breath. Ben presses slow kisses to Rey's cheeks, her neck, mumbling into her hair.

"Papa's good girl, aren't you. So good, Rey."

"Love you, Papa," she mumbles back. Her mouth feels like it's full of marbles.

They don't move until the gathering chill of the claim shanty cools their heated skin. Ben pulls out of her with a hiss and gets out of bed, walking bandy legged to fiddle with the sheath. Rey moves to the bedpan, embarrassed while wiping herself clean; a bit of blood spots the rag, but the area isn't too tender. She dresses in her nightgown and climbs under the quilt. 

Ben follows shortly after, snuggling in close.

"How do you feel?" he whispers.

Rey considers this. "Not… different. Not really. A little sore, maybe." She pauses. "I liked it." She snuggles closer. "I liked it a lot."

Ben grins, pressing a kiss to her nose.

"We'll do it again," he promises solemnly.

Rey giggles at him, and he chuckles as he brings his hands up to tickle her sides. Their peals of laughter echo across the empty prairie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Implied sexual assault against an unnamed side character. Widespread hunger/starvation. Loss of virginity: penetrative vaginal sex with a minor while using a contraceptive. So many end notes.**
> 
> Y'all thought I was gonna let them fuck without protection? No!
> 
> Buckle up, I'm so excited about [Victorian contraception](https://daily.jstor.org/short-history-of-the-condom/) it might be the entire reason I wrote this fic. Anyway, condoms have existed for millenium, but we see the rise of the modern condom in the 16th century, when Italian doctor Gabriele Falloppio did some (surprisingly scientific) studies into whether lubricated linen sheaths prevented the transmission of syphilis. Spoiler, they did, but men still hated wearing condoms (shocker). Casanova himself said he didn't like "shutting [himself] up in a piece of dead skin in order to prove that [he was] well and truly alive." Animal gut condoms became the de facto contraceptive until well into the 19th century when galvanized rubber was invented, making possible the first rubber condoms. The first iteration of these was a cap that only covered the glans of the penis; later versions were full length but were super thick and had an uncomfortable seam down the length of them. It wasn't until the 1920's that latex became a thing and condoms started to take on a modern, recognizable form.
> 
> Condoms were largely associated with brothels, which is indeed where Ben procured his. He has an animal gut condom (here's an 1848 [recipe](https://io9.gizmodo.com/heres-an-1844-recipe-for-making-your-own-condoms-1730612504) for those of you so inclined), mostly because the early galvanized condoms were supposed to be as thick as a bicycle inner tube and I just couldn't do that to poor Ben. Animal gut condoms are supposed to be soaked for a few hours before use, so we'll just pretend that he had the foresight to do that well in advance. They are intended to be reusable. ;)
> 
> The [1873 Comstock Law](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comstock_laws) made the dissemination (heh) of contraceptives, sex toys, and other information about sex illegal. [Margaret Sanger](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_Sanger), who founded an organization that would later become Planned Parenthood, made several attempts to appeal the law in the 1910s and 1920s, but it would remain in place until the [1963 Griswold v. Connecticut](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Griswold_v._Connecticut) Supreme Court ruling. It was still possible to get your hands on condoms and other contraceptives (or pornography) in the 1880's, it was just more underground, which is why Ben had to go to the saloon to find one. 
> 
> The song they sing at church is [_I'm Going Home_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5g1UHZwN3ds) from the _Cold Mountain_ soundtrack. It's a neat example of [shape-note singing](https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-2004-01-04-0401040417-story.html) which was a church song-book style started in the 1850's where the songs relied on four "shape-notes" instead of fa, sol, la, and mi. 
> 
> The monologue is a speech by Prospero from [_The Tempest_](https://www.nosweatshakespeare.com/quotes/monologues/ye-elves-of-hills/), Act V, Scene i. 
> 
> A picture of young [oyster shuckers](https://www.reddit.com/r/pics/comments/bd63kw/young_oyster_shuckers_josie_six_years_old_bertha/) from 1912. 
> 
> I have retconned the number of younger Dameron children to a total of four. I simply cannot possibly be expected to come up with that many names. I apologize to anyone who was deeply attached to Young Dameron Child #5 or #6.
> 
> Additional apologies for the quadruple quotation mark. It was unavoidable.
> 
> Oh yeah, and, uh, ACAB. Especially the Red Cloud Sheriff who won't follow up on a sexual assault against a sex worker.
> 
> Rey is now _technically_ the [age of consent](https://jsberrylaw.com/blog/nebraskas-romeo-and-juliet-laws/#:~:text=In%20the%20state%20of%20Nebraska%2C%20the%20age%20of%20consent%20is%2016.) in Nebraska today, but I'm going to keep tagging everything as sex with a minor. Don't fuck 16-year-olds.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for your many wonderful comments and tweets! I'm sorry I'm so bad at responding, it probably won't change, but I really have loved reading each and every one of your comments/replies . I finally made a fandom-specific Twitter account and you can find me at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23). I can't promise quality Twitter content, but sometimes I think of non-sequiturs.
> 
> Love you all, hope you're staying safe <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes. More for trauma and violence this chapter, just a heads up.
> 
> Beautiful mood board designed by @EmilyFiction <3  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/189168310@N08/50118569783/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

The blizzards begin in earnest again as January wears on, and the constancy of the wind screaming outside the windows has Rey tearing out her hair, desperate for some reprieve from the blinding whiteness of driven snow. She takes to deep-cleaning the little claim shanty while Ben does chores in the barn, re-organizing items in various trunks and cupboards, sweeping things out from under the bed. She finds a handsome silver teapot and polishes it to gleaming, carefully packs away eggshell-thin chinaware. 

In the bottom of a trunk she finds a heavy locket. The clasp is tightly shut but she greases the hinge and pries the clasp apart with a thin piece of metal. The locket falls open in her lap.

Two tiny tintypes peer up at her from behind their cloudy glass windows. They're handsome, a young man with a large nose who smirks at the camera and a young woman with dark hair, tightly ringletted around her face. 

The door of the shanty opens and Rey starts guiltily as Ben stomps the snow off his feet at the threshold. She hurries to fetch him some tea as he sits heavily at the kitchen table.

"Have to do some more roof repairs when this lets up," he says. "Thank you, sweetheart." He takes the mug, looking around at the claim shanty, finally tidied after days of organized chaos. "See you've been busy."

"Mm-hmm." Rey sits down with her own mug. She chews her lip, and then delicately lays the open locket on the table. "I'm sorry, I was curious. I shouldn't've opened it."

Ben stares at it for a long moment before lifting the chain to dangle the little photographs in front of his face.

"My parents," he says simply. He sighs heavily and hands the locket back to her. "I don't mind you lookin'." 

Rey takes the necklace, studying its inhabitants again. She can see the family resemblance; Ben has his father's nose, his mother's eyes. 

"Are they– ?"

Ben takes a gulp of tea, shaking his head. "Lost at sea."

"Like my parents," Rey says sadly. She traces a finger over the glass covering his mother's face. "Is that why you went to live with your uncle?"

"Ah– no." He stares into his mug. "No, that's not why."

They lapse into silence. Rey wonders if she's overstepped, unsure of how to take it back. She knows so little of Ben's life, besides the few snippets he's dropped, like breadcrumbs for her to gobble up. 

He takes a big gulp of tea, like he's steeling himself, and takes the locket back. It looks small in his hand.

"My mother was raised by an old Boston brahmin family, real blue bloods."

"She was beautiful," Rey says. "You look like her."

Ben's eyes crinkle around the edges. He traces his finger over the glass, just like Rey.

"She was orphaned young, came into her inheritance early. And she was… not wild, exactly, but... opinionated. Lived life to the beat of her own drum. Made a scandalous marriage to my father." His finger moves to the other pane of glass. "I s'pose you'd call him a… a tradesman? Had a fleet of ships that sailed out of Boston harbor, and some suspicious connections. Often as not the goods he traded in were stolen… sugar, coffee, people…"

Rey gives him a startled look. He reaches out his hand to reassure her.

"Not like that. Just… every time he'd come back from the South he'd end up with a stowaway or two, bound for Canada. Can't steal something that's not rightfully owned, he'd say. 

"That's probably why my mother loved him. She was into her causes– abolition, suffrage… and my father was  _ doing _ something, you know. I think he was a nice change of pace for her, from all the fancy folks that'd give lip service to ending slavery and then go and profit off their cotton shares.

"My uncle– he and my mother were twins, but they were raised separate. He grew up on a farm near Springfield, raised by a couple a' Quakers. Anyhow, Luke, he knew my father through connections with the Underground Railroad, introduced the two of 'em. Somehow my mother ended up on his ship, bound for Georgia, and convinced some slave trader to give up his whole cargo. Nearly fifty people. 

"They got married the next year, probably 'cause I was on the way." Rey's eyebrows raise and Ben grins at her. "Didn't stop her from dragging him up to New York for the women's convention in Seneca Falls. I was born up there a week later."

"They sound like wonderful parents." Rey can imagine all their swashbuckling adventures.

"Yeah, well…" He pauses, looking at her. "It's just, the fifties were tough, for them. The Fugitive Slave Act passed, and suddenly escapees were being hunted down in the streets in Boston, and sent down South. My father's friend got caught and Pops was gone for nearly a year, trying to get him back. And my mother was doing a lot more politicking in those days, especially after Mr. Sumner got elected, and after he got caned… I got sent to school, soon as I was old enough. Still in Boston, but I only got to see them every once in a while, you know."

Rey nods, taking his hand. 

"I'm sure the school wasn't as bad as any of the orphanages you were in, they fed us fine and all…" His hand trembles in hers. "The Headmaster, though, old man by the name of Snoke, he–"

Ben's face has gone quite white. Rey peers at him, alarmed.

"Are you alright?" 

Ben nods, but he's nearly gasping for breath. Rey tugs him to his feet and leads him to lie down on the quilt, his head cradled in her lap. She cards her fingers through his hair.

"I'm– I'm real sorry, it's just–" 

Rey shushes him. She holds him until he stops trembling, and then they just lay there in the weak, early afternoon light, the wind howling outside. 

"I think," Ben croaks out, "I think he did it to all the boys, but– but he always said, I was his favorite…"

Rey's stomach drops. It's not that she's surprised, really. That and worse happened in the orphanages. Not to her, by some stroke of luck. It's just that Ben is so  _ big _ , it's hard to imagine anyone could…

All she can do is keep holding him. He wraps his arms around her legs and buries his face in her skirts.

"Never told anyone before now," he says, his voice muffled by the fabric. He turns his face. "My parents never could figure out why I was actin' up so bad, destroyed half my room at school, smashed plates at dinner and such."

"You were hurting."

Ben nods, wiping his eyes on her apron. 

"My Uncle Luke came out to visit, think he probably wanted to see the new steam shovel, they were just starting to fill in the Back Bay then. Anyhow, he suggested I come out to the farm, get some energy out. Probably the best thing anyone coulda done for me." Rey brushes hair off his face. "Gave me this terrible accent, a' course." 

She smiles sadly. It's a weak joke, and it just breaks her heart even more.

"How was the farm?"

Ben rolls off her to lay his head on the pillow. She turns to face him.

"It was hard work, but– you know, don't you? Trading the city for wide open spaces, animals instead of people. Nothing short of magical. My uncle saw an interesting mix of folks, told you he hid runaways on their way north. And some more militant types were around too, he was back and forth to the Kansas territory before I came. John Brown himself came 'round a few times."

"What was he like?"

Ben considers. "Fierce. But he was kind."

They lay there in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour. Ben closes his eyes and Rey's almost certain he's fallen asleep. She traces her finger tip over his nose and tries to digest what he's told her, tries to reckon with the bubbling anger that's boiling within her. A savage sort of protectiveness has her gathering him closer, like she can protect him from past wrongs.

When Ben stirs she gets them both some fairy cakes and more tea, and they break out a card deck and play Old Maid on the quilt. Ben grins at her poor sportsmanship when she wins and taunts her right back when she ends up with the old maid. 

There's a lull while Ben shuffles and Rey tentatively asks a question.

"What was your uncle doing in Kansas?"

"Support, mostly, for the anti-slavery settlers out there." He deals the cards. "Pretty sure he was in a few skirmishes, but it'd mostly died down by the time he took me in. Still dragged me out there right before the war, wanted to defend his homestead against Missouri in case it came to that."

"You moved all the way to Kansas?" 

"Yup. My mother just about had a conniption when she found out, he didn't ask her in advance. She wanted me to move back to Boston, but I was havin' too much fun out West. Uncle Luke'd become a colonel and I ran some odd errands around the camps, tried to look after the homestead at the same time. We didn't see a lotta action."

They play another hand. This round Rey has the old maid. 

"And you joined up at sixteen?"

"Mm." Ben takes the cards from her and starts to shuffle again. "Toward the end of the war. Confederates had started pushin' to re-take Missouri and it was starting to look like there'd be a major battle. Luke lied about my age to the recruitment officers, but I was tall, even then, they didn't check twice."

Rey can imagine.

"He was real proud I wanted to fight, 'stead of just doing camp chores. Said it's what a righteous man did, what a righteous Christian does, defend those in chains."

"Did you end up in battle?"

"Not for a while," he says, dealing again. "Spent a good amount a' time doin' drills and gettin' into mischief with the other soldiers in my company. It was the first time I wasn't stayin' with Luke, see, and there's all sorts of distractions to be had in an army camp." He smiles a bit wryly. "Big battle didn't happen 'til October. Battle of Westport. That one in your history book?"

"I think so." Rey uncrosses her stockinged feet and alights from the bed to retrieve her book from the chest of drawers. She opens it to the list of battles with their short descriptions. "Gettysburg of the West?"

Ben huffs a laugh. "Guess so. It was a big battle, by my reckoning. Not much of one, though, really. We licked the Greybacks soundly. Not much fight left in 'em after that campaign, west of the Mississippi.

"I caught a stray bullet in my leg just as they were retreating. Worst pain I ever felt, Mini é ball went right through my thigh. Lasted a few days just in bandages before the infection set in and they had to chloroform me good to clean out the wound. Lucky I didn't lose the leg.

"Anyhow, somebody got their signals crossed and I woke up in the care of the wrong company, takin' me back to the Colorado Territory! We were clear across the border before I was in my right state of mind, and by then there was nothin' for it, so I wrote to Luke and told him I joined up with the 1st Colorado Cavalry, so I could convalesce."

They play another round of cards. Ben has the old maid.

"Never really stopped wondering, what woulda happened if they hadn't gotten me mixed up. War in the West was basically won at that point, I probably woulda settled down in Kansas, maybe gone back to Massachusetts with Luke, seen my parents. Guess there's no knowing."

Rey frowns.

"What did happen, when you went to Colorado?"

Ben heaves a sigh. "Nothing good." 

Rey waits for him to elaborate, gathering the cards to shuffle.

"Convalesced alright, back on my leg within a few weeks, tryin' to get it back to normal. Colorado troops were mostly protecting the wagon trains from Indian attack, so it wasn't like we were waiting on troop movement or anything. 

"'Bout a month after I got there, the Colonel announced we were moving on an enemy. There'd been a few attacks by the Dog Soldiers nearby, so I figured we'd be confronting some warriors. But it wasn't like that at all. I saw a white flag, a  _ Union flag _ , as we rode up and then the firing started. My commanding officer was shouting at me to do the same so I got out my gun and took aim, got off a few shots. But I got a closer look and I– I couldn't  _ keep _ shooting. There were hardly any men there at all, just women and children, a few elders. It was like everyone around me had gone mad, I've never seen such violence– such… such  _ mutilations _ . Against defenseless people, and by Union soldiers!

"I didn't know what to do, I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run. I just watched the atrocities pile up, struck dumb. These pathetic creatures, dying in front of me, and I did nothing to help them, nothing! I stopped shooting and let my brethren get on with the slaughter."

Ben takes a ragged breath, rubbing his hand across his face. 

"Worst part was ridin' away with all of 'em, scalps and– and other body parts, hangin' off saddlebags. Some of 'em so little you knew it had to have come from a child. Think I threw up a half-dozen times on the way back, 'til the numbness set in."

The cards hang limply in Rey's hands, forgotten.

"Wrote to Luke afterwards, and he rode out to Denver City. I was so shook by what I'd seen, he wanted to pack me up for Kansas right away. But… it just… it didn't feel right, leavin' without sayin' something, you know, they were callin' it a great battle by then, an honorable victory. There were a few voices, dissenting, and I thought I should help set the record straight, testify to the investigation committee that was convened.

"I told Luke I intended to stay put for a few more months, and he– well, he was very opposed. Said I was besmirching the Union, stirrin' up trouble that'd only come back to haunt me. I couldn't believe it at first, thought maybe I hadn't properly conveyed what happened, the depths of the depravity. But he said he understood just fine, that we had to think of the bigger picture, perfect the grander American experiment. 

"I tried arguing with him– surely this was a part of that same experiment? But he wouldn't listen, said if I was so keen to stay I could do it on my own. And he was true to his word, rode off back to Kansas. Greatest man I ever knew, veritable lion in my eyes, abandoned me without a backward glance.

"So I took up residence in a boarding house in Denver City, waited to testify. Stood up in front of that committee and told 'em all I'd seen."

Ben fiddles with the quilt, tugging at loose threads. 

"And… in the end… Luke was right." The side of one of the hexagons lifts free. "The committee recommended action against the Colonel, but he retired and nothing ever came of it. Nothing ever happened to those animals who butchered children in their own camp. And that damn  _ book _ ," he glares at the tome resting near Rey's right knee, "calls it a  _ battle _ ."

He sighs and Rey glances at the book guiltily. The fight seems to go out of him.

"He was right about everything. Shoulda packed it outta Colorado soon as I finished testifying. Came back from the saloon one night to find five men in my boarding room, trashin' the place, probably lookin' for any documents relating to my testimony. Barely hightailed it out of the building before a few shots rang out behind me. I caught hold of the first horse I saw and ran it as fast as I could, totally blind to the direction. Didn't stop til we were somewhere in the foothills."

Rey waits for him to go on, but he doesn't. He buries his face in his hands and she reaches out tentatively to touch him on the arm, unsure if he'll allow it. He jerks at the contact of her fingers, but leans in to her hand until his head is resting on her shoulder. She holds him again, easing them back to lay down on the bed. His shoulders shake as if he's sobbing. 

"I don't think your uncle was right," Rey says quietly. "I think you were right, telling the truth, and damn the consequences. And I think he was wrong to leave you there, vulnerable and alone." She holds him tighter. "You're good, Ben, you're a good man."

He shakes his head, side to side, his tears hot against her neck. 

After a while, Rey gets up to make supper and Ben goes out to the barn to do the nightly milking. They eat in silence, all talked out. Rey reads a magazine she borrowed from Rose, stealing glances at Ben, who sits stoically at the table, worrying the closed locket between his fingers. 

She climbs under the covers while he readies for bed and extinguishes the lamp. In the darkness she cradles his head in her arms again. His mouth finds her neck and presses slow kisses there, heavy and wet. 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispers into her hair, an edge of desperation to his voice. "I need–"

"It's ok, Papa," she says softly.

In a flurry of movement he leaves the bed and returns with the sheath, fumbling to seat it correctly on his member. He pulls the covers over them and parts her thighs beneath him, rubbing his manhood against her a few times before pressing lower, grunting as he enters her tight cunt.

Rey gasps, clinging to his back as he starts to thrust. He usually brings her to climax with his fingers before intercourse, stretching her to receive his large cock. This is– something else. Too tight, and yet her whole body feels like it's on fire.

He kisses her sweetly on the mouth, forcing his hand between them to rub at her aching clitoris in time with his hard thrusts.

"Ah– ah– Papa, please–"

"What do you want, sweetheart," he asks in a low voice, rubbing faster, sucking hard at the skin beneath her ear. 

"I– I want– " Rey doesn't have the words to describe it, the crisis that blooms from her center. Ben holds her down through the convulsions, and then he's slamming into her, seeking his own pleasure while she shakes. It feels like a release, when he spends, collapsing on top of her so she can feel his full weight, like she's able to bear it for him for a while. 

At some point he moves off her, and cleans her up and wraps her in his arms to sleep, but Rey hardly remembers any of it, she's so exhausted. She drifts to sleep and dreams of small children, crying out into the nothingness, her arms outstretched and unable to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Implied childhood sexual abuse of Ben. Kind of graphic descriptions of the Sand Creek massacre. Lots of dialogue and feelings. Comfort sex initiated by Ben, with limited foreplay, in the missionary position. Hella long endnotes.**
> 
> This chapter was super exhausting to write. I was trying to find a way to non-awkwardly tell a backstory and maintain Rey's perspective, and this was the result. I kept being all shocked that the word count wasn't higher. The end notes, however, had to be edited because they were too long. :P
> 
> I left Ben's childhood trauma pretty vague because I felt that Rey would understand what he was talking about and I thought it seemed unlikely Ben would want to get into the details if this was the first time he was telling anyone. 
> 
> A timeline:
> 
> 1847 - Han and Leia meet, raid slave ship, get pregnant  
> 1848 - (July) [Seneca Falls Convention](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seneca_Falls_Convention), Ben is born  
> 1850 - The [1850 Fugitive Slave Act](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fugitive_Slave_Act_of_1850) is passed  
> 1851 - [Charles Sumner](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Sumner) is elected to the Senate as a "Free Soil Democrat," replacing [Daniel Webster](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_Webster), one of the main proponents of the new Fugitive Slave Act  
> 1854 - Ben starts school (aged 6)  
> 1856 - [Bleeding Kansas](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bleeding_Kansas#Summer_of_1856), a series of violent civil confrontations over the admission of Kansas as a free or slave state, begins, lasts until 1861. Charles Sumner is [caned](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caning_of_Charles_Sumner) on the Senate floor after his inflammatory speech "The Crime Against Kansas."  
> 1858 - Work begins on [filling the Back Bay](https://ez.analog.com/b/engineering-mind/posts/bostons-back-bay-the-original-big-dig) in Boston, Ben (aged 10) drops out of school to go live with Luke  
> 1861 - Civil War begins, Luke and Ben move to Kansas  
> 1864 - (August) Ben joins the army, aged 16  
> 1864 - (October) [Battle of Westport](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Westport), Ben is injured and transported to Colorado by mistake  
> 1864 - (November) [Sand Creek Massacre](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sand_Creek_massacre). Heads up, the Wikipedia entry has some pretty gruesome descriptions.  
> 1865 - (January) Investigations into the "battle" of Sand Creek begin
> 
> I imagined Leia to be raised by some really high-falutin folks, and so while it contributes literally nothing to the plot, I picked out their [house](https://www.colonialsociety.org/node/3072), which has all sorts of interesting history if you're so inclined to read more. It currently houses the [Colonial Society of Massachusetts](https://www.colonialsociety.org/) and [ Boston by Foot](https://bostonbyfoot.org/), which is hosting some neat virtual tours of greater Boston for free these days if you're in need of something to do/educational experiences for kiddos.
> 
> The [Minié Ball](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mini%C3%A9_ball) was an improved bullet that was more accurate, easier to load, and more devastating when it hit flesh. The Mütter Museum has an excellent series of [videos](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLE5U9L06rB7Px8Ta6aPza62WZqvv2tDGP) on Civil War medicine.
> 
> I based Ben's story arc during the Sand Creek massacre on that of [Silas Soule](https://www.nps.gov/sand/learn/historyculture/the-life-of-silas-soule.htm), a man from an abolitionist family in New England who moved to Kansas as part of the anti-slavery cause and became a Captain in the 1st Colorado Cavalry Regiment. He refused to fire during the massacre and later gave testimony during the Army's investigation. He was murdered in the street in Denver a few weeks after he testified.
> 
> I tried to describe the atrocities of the Sand Creek massacre without being sensationalist, but it's a tough line to walk. After posting this chapter I'll be making a donation to the [National Indigenous Women's Resource Center](https://www.niwrc.org/donate). If you're able, please consider donating as well.
> 
> Hope you are all safe and healthy, love you all <3
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in end notes.

Rey and Ben bring eggs and wheels of cheese to town when the weather permits, despite it not being Sunday, for Pastor Dameron to distribute amongst the congregation. It wouldn't do, Ben says, to emerge from the winter with excess in their stores. 

As they sit in the Damerons' parlor, Rose tells Rey in hushed tones about the Vizlas, a Bohemian family a few miles out of town, who had lost two young children already, to cold or hunger.

"They don't speak much English," Rose says quietly. "Pa went 'round to check in on them, you know, found them huddled in their dugout, keeping warm by burning cow patties and clumps of grass. Hardly any food left."

Rey nods along sadly, the plights of the other families in town and on the homesteads surrounding each grimmer than the last. 

Cal Kestis and Finn are preparing to make the sixty mile round trip to Superior, having been put off by the blizzards the previous few weeks. They each have a sleigh with two stout horses, and have been loaned buffalo robes by various parishioners (so many that Rey wonders whether they won't displace some of the wheat.) 

Rose looks up as Finn walks into the room, and her face has a soft, worried look to it, so tender that Rey looks away, feeling like she's intruding somehow. 

"We're off," Finn says. Rose puts down the embroidery she has in her lap and flies off the sofa to fling her arms around his neck. 

"Be safe, please," she says, her voice catching in her throat. "Don't take any risks, alright?"

"I'll be fine, Rosie," Finn says, hugging her back. "Don't worry."

She steps away and wipes at her eyes, smiling up at him. "You'd better."

Rey clears her throat a bit, and Finn breaks his gaze away from Rose. 

"Godspeed, Finn," she says to him. "You two are real heroes, making this trip. We'll be praying day and night for you."

"Thanks, Rey." He beams at her, pulling Rose under his arm again to walk out the front door. Rey follows them out to the yard where Cal sits in his own sleigh. Rey waves to him and he raises a hand in response, the sun glinting off his red hair.

Ben stands next to Pastor Dameron in the yard, hands in his pockets, watching Finn give Rose one last hug before stepping into the seat of his sleigh. Rey sidles up to him.

"Feel like I should be going, too," he mumbles to her. She smiles sadly and loops her hand through his elbow, squeezing his arm. Nobody pays them any mind, all eyes on the two departing. Pastor Dameron is nearly as choked up as Rose, managing only a half-hearted "Jesus will guide your reins!" before he simply waves his kerchief. Mrs. Dameron brings the little ones to the front porch, holding Zorii, who is still on the mend, in her arms. 

Finn clicks his tongue at his team and the sleighs are off. They all wave at the retreating forms until they're out of the yard and beyond a drift of snow.

"They'll be alright," Mrs. Dameron says firmly. "I can feel it."

Pastor Dameron and Ben spend the rest of the morning distributing foodstuffs to needy families in Ben's sleigh. Rey stays with the remaining Damerons, trying to distract the family from the morose feeling of absence that has settled over them. She makes up silly stories for Zorii and Shara, pulling faces and doing funny voices, trying not to wince when Zorii is caught up in a bone-rattling coughing fit. Rose returns to her embroidery, seated next to them in the parlor. Her dejection is almost tangible, but Rey can't think of a way to comfort her.

The men return in the early afternoon. They all have a quick lunch of salt pork and pickled vegetables before Rey and Ben head home. 

Ben looks rather haunted when he tells Rey of the families they'd visited.

"Knew it'd be bad when the last trains didn't get through," he says quietly. "But seeing it first hand…"

Rey knows starvation intimately, knows of cold and gnawing hunger. She's watched whole families starve before, and she can offer no reassurance to Ben besides another quick squeeze of his elbow and a grim aphorism.

"It's in God's hands now."

The weather stays clear, and Rey supposes that's all they can really hope for. 

It's dull horror, waiting. Ben is restless, stalking between the barn and the house. In the afternoon Rey finds him in the root cellar, looking for anything they can bring to town. She helps him sort through the vegetables and canned goods.

"We got all those seed potatoes," Ben says. 

Rey squints in the dim light of the oil lamp at the dusty sacks on the ground. 

"What'll we plant in the spring?"

Ben grunts. "Don't you worry about that." He sounds a bit shifty when he says it. Rey frowns at him.

"Maybe we ought to wait until they get back with the wheat."

Ben shrugs. They pull out a few more wheels of cheese and a barrel of oats, a few onions and carrots. It's hard to know, how much they can stand to give away. Rey's been thrifty with their meals lately, taking extra care to stretch everything, but there's only so far it'll all go.

Ben sets off in the sleigh, despite the lateness of the hour, and it falls to Rey to do the nightly milking and the other chores. She stays in the barn with M'lady until he returns home, the moonlight shining off the snow making him quite visible in the dark. 

"Any news?" Rey asks, and he shakes his head. It's only been a day, so she supposes this is reasonable. She helps him bring the horses into the barn and they brush them down together.

"Rey," he sighs, hanging the bridles on the wall and turning back to look at her. She's immediately on edge. 

"What? What happened?"

"Zorii's taken a– well, a bit of a turn."

Rey thinks back to her horrible coughing fits yesterday and her heart clenches.

"How so?"

"Fever's back, and it sounds like she's been coughin' up a bit a' blood. Poor thing…"

"Is it… consumption?" Rey whispers the word, like she might keep it at bay if she doesn't say it out loud. 

Ben shrugs. "Don't rightly know. There's a doctor that makes the rounds from Lincoln when the train's running, but these days…" He shakes his head. "Maybe she'll pull through, children can be awful resilient."

They eat a late supper. Rey feels worn out and sad, and Ben seems a bit morose as well. They get ready for bed without speaking. He pulls her close under the covers, but only holds her, tucked tight under his arm.

"Winter always ends eventually, sweetheart." His lips brush over her hair.

"But when?" It's a plaintive whisper in the dark. 

He has no answer.

Rey bakes a pie in the morning and then they set out once again for town. She cradles the pastry in her lap in the sleigh, the bottom of the tin warm through her skirts until they're nearly to town. 

Ben is sidelined by Mr. Dameron near the barn as soon as they arrive, so Rey approaches the front door by herself. It's pulled open by a red-eyed Mrs. Dameron whose usually sleek blonde hair has come a bit undone. Rey presents the pie to her, which the older woman sets on the kitchen table and then turns to pull Rey into a hug. Rey hesitates, but wraps her arms around her shoulders, squeezing gently. 

"I'm so glad you're here," Mrs. Dameron says. She releases Rey and blinks rapidly at the ceiling for a moment, trying to collect herself. "I think Rosie could use a friend right now."

Rey wonders if Mrs. Dameron could use a friend too. She touches her elbow and smiles sadly.

"Can I help you out in here at all?"

"No, no, that's perfectly alright. I've got to go back up to Zorii–"

"Well, if you think of anything."

Mrs. Dameron nods quickly, blinking again, and takes a bowl and a stack of rags from the table, her skirts swishing as she makes her exit.

Rey finds Rose in the parlor, as red-eyed as Mrs. Dameron, poring over her needlework. She sits next to her on the settee, watching as Rose makes perfect little whorls of stitches, a beautiful bouquet of thread. 

"Ma sent me down here," Rose says after they sit a long while in silence, the only sound the whispery  _ thwip-thwip _ of the thread being pulled through the canvas. She keeps her eyes firmly held to her needle. "Didn't want me to scare Zorii with crying, you see."

Rey reaches a hand out to touch Rose's shoulder, and then the other girl is bent double in her arms, weeping. She holds Rose while she cries, remembering how Ben spoke soft nothings at her when she first came to Nebraska and trying to replicate it for the girl in her lap.

"It's alright, Rose, cry all you want, sweetheart, don't worry, I've got you…"

It takes some time for Rose to calm down and when she's cried out she still rests limply against Rey's side, her head on her shoulder.

"I just want Finn to come home," she says hoarsely. "If he would just come home safely, maybe everything else will be…"

Alright, Rey finishes mentally. Maybe everything else will be alright.

They move to start on making lunch. For once Rey is in charge of the kitchen, and she does her best to set Rose to frying bacon and peeling potatoes. Shara comes down with Temiri in her arms and Kes holding her apron strings. Rey swallows at the sight, Shara not quite eight years old and looking so put-upon. She quickly takes Temiri and directs Shara to setting the table, firing off words for her to try and spell. Both Temiri and Kes need to be changed out of soiled diapers so she ducks into the side pantry where she secures fresh linens with safety pins. She sets Kes toddling on his way; Temiri gives her a gummy smile and she hoists him on her hip, rounding the corner to check up on Rose.

Lunch is quiet; Ben and Mr. Dameron are still out with the sleigh and Mrs. Dameron only comes down for a short while to bring some more broth up to Zorii. Rey manages to convince her to at least take a slice of pie for herself, wondering glumly if she'll actually eat it.

The rest of the day passes in the same stifling, harried fashion. She manages to get everyone settled in the parlor, reading out loud from the Shakespeare book before Temiri starts to wail. Rose has gone back to her embroidery, stabbing the canvas with a sort of concentrated violence, and Shara is flipping through a storybook, pausing at the pictures. Rey isn't sure where Kes has gotten to but is so occupied with Temiri she can't spare the time to go look for him.

Eventually he makes his reappearance when Mrs. Dameron comes down in the late afternoon, the toddler clutching at her skirts and crying "Mama" repeatedly. The poor woman looks extremely frazzled, and Rey is quick to pluck the screaming boy into her arms. She hands him to Rose, who has put her embroidery down at the noise, blinking as if jolted out of a daze. 

"Can I make you some tea?" Rey asks Mrs. Dameron. She nods weakly, following Rey to the kitchen and sitting at the table.

"I think her fever's gone down," Mrs. Dameron says in a half-whisper, staring at the scrubbed wood. "She's sleeping now."

"That's good news," Rey says encouragingly, placing a tea cup in front of her. "How about another slice of pie, while we wait for Pastor Dameron then?"

The older woman nods and Rey's heartened to see her eat all of it. Rose comes into the kitchen with a quietened Kes and they drink tea until the scrape of sleigh skids sounds in the yard. Rey goes to open the door, guiltily relieved that Ben is back and they'll be able to leave soon. 

But it's not Pastor Dameron and Ben in the yard, but rather Finn and Cal Kestis, with grins so wide they could illuminate the night and barrel upon barrel of wheat stacked precariously in the backs of their sleighs. 

Rey shrieks and the others come running to peer out the door. Rose's whole face lights up and she pushes past Rey to run into the yard, leaping into Finn's arms as he jumps from the sleigh. He sweeps her up and around, and they all laugh like mad. Rey feels giddy, beaming so widely her cheeks hurt, and the joy is redoubled when Ben and Pastor Dameron skid around the corner as well. 

They pull Finn and Cal into the kitchen for hot tea and the last slices of pie; Rey and Rose busy themselves whipping up some heartier fare while Mrs. Dameron peels the boys' wraps forcibly from their bodies, pushing them to sit in front of the stove. 

"Bless you both," she says, pinching their cheeks in a motherly sort of way. "I don't know how you managed it–"

"Wasn't so hard," Finn says, grinning. "Weather's been fine, we got there within a few hours of leaving–"

"Found the man with the grain elevator," Cal cuts in. "He's a company man, works for the railroad. He's been out there all by his lonesome, 'cept the times he can make it into Superior, and they've only got the one saloon, and the depot–"

"Said he could give the wheat to us on credit, but only if we'd stay over an extra day! How 'bout that, poor fella was so lonely…"

"Finn got the price knocked down by virtue of his fiddling," Cal grins. "And I did my part, threw in a little jig–"

"That probably drove the price back up," Finn says, slapping his knee. 

They all have a grand supper together, laughing and talking. Ben and Pastor Dameron discuss how to divvy up the new wheat supplies. Rey watches everyone with a smile on her face, standing near the pantry. She's taken Temiri again and he perches on her hip, watching the goings-on with wide eyes, taking everything in. She points to Finn and Cal, saying their names slowly for him to hear, points at Rose and Mrs. Dameron.

"Ros-ie. Ma-ma."

She moves her finger to the right, pointing at Pastor Dameron. "Pa-pa." 

Ben looks up at her, as if by complete instinct. She blushes deeply, dropping her finger and looking away, but not before catching his sheepish grin.

They leave well after dark, and Rey frets a bit that the cows will have to wait for their milking. As they gather their wraps, Mrs. Dameron hurries over to her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Rey," she says in her ear. Rey smiles at her when she pulls back, squeezing her elbow fondly. Ben pulls the sleigh around and she waves a final farewell before crossing the frozen yard. 

They drive off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Referenced child death. Referenced starvation. Drawn-out sickness of a child. Emotionssss. Rated T for Rey babysits most of the chapter.**
> 
> Hello! Sorry for the long gulf between updates. This is a shorter chapter that was originally going to be part of a mega-monster chapter, but I think it actually does make more sense by itself, so. It is an interlude.
> 
> Not a ton of historical context, but I did find this very interesting [history](https://www.lilbabycakes.com/history-of-baby-diapers.html) of [diapers](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/478226054172552176/) while I was trying to figure out what Temiri and Kes would have been wearing. Some of the historical solutions to baby poop genuinely made me shudder. 
> 
> I also discovered that [safety pins](https://www.uspto.gov/about-us/news-updates/patent-safety-pin-issued-april-10-1849-new-yorker-invents-handy-device#:~:text=Washington%20%2D%20Walter%20Hunt%2C%20of%20New,the%20spring%20into%20the%20clasp.) did exist by this point, and that their inventor also invented the sewing machine but refused to patent it because he was worried it would put hand sewers out of work. What a guy. 
> 
> Since this is light on end notes, I thought I'd also plug a YouTuber who does a lot of videos about historical dress and is 100% responsible for everything I know about Victorian fashion, so do yourself a favor and go watch some [Bernadette Banner](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSHtaUm-FjUps090S7crO4Q) videos. They're amazing and if you like the leg work I put into my end notes for a dinky fanfic you're going to love the amount of research she puts into her channel.
> 
> Also I just wanted to add some personal context for this story. It's definitely meant to be a vehicle for Reylo daddy kink but it's also been a way for me to reconsider a beloved childhood series that hasn't aged well and really isn't that historically accurate. While writing it I've been so excited by the research and it's been a good way for me to rethink tropes and assumptions I've always taken for granted in 'old west' genre literature. That said, I'm just gonna put it out there that I'm hella white and if I ever deal with race or history in a way that rings some alarm bells for you, please let me know. This whole project has been about me questioning my country's heritage and narrative, and I want to push myself on that as much as possible.
> 
> Hope everyone is safe and healthy, please take care of yourselves. Love you all <3
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes. 

The week after Finn and Cal return, Ben and Rey stay home, tending to neglected chores around their own homestead. There are some repairs to be done to the roofs that have been put off long enough, and the ever-shifting drifts of snow around the yard must be contended with so that they can continue to walk between the shanty and the barn. The smoking shed has emerged from the snow and is in such a great state of disrepair that Ben chops it up to be used as firewood.

Rey spends three full days doing laundry. It's exhausting, kneeling over the big tub of hot water, scrubbing the dirt from their underclothes and stockings and sheets. They soak in the rinse water and she wishes they had a mangle, like the Damerons do, but she's left to wring the water from the heavy fabric by hand and hang it to drip in the corner of the shanty. While it dries she sweeps the floor and then figures she might as well use the flood of water from the laundry to scrub the wooden boards.

Thankfully they only have a few pieces that require starching, and then she's spending hours ironing, the little, heavy flatirons sitting in a row on the hot stove, waiting to be grasped with a bunched rag and pressed to the fabric. 

She's not sure how Ben got along by himself doing the wash and the cooking and tending to the animals and doing repairs on the barn. But then, he lived simply, only had the one Sunday suit and his work clothes. Made one loaf of bread a day, and a fry-up for supper. It's Rey with the pretty dresses with their starched collars and it's Rey with the fairy cakes and roast fowl. She grins wryly as she sweats over the hot stove; if only the old Rey could see her now, so high and proper she's made work for herself.

She places their nice clothes, perfectly ironed and folded, in the chest of drawers, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, turning her attention to blacking the stove. By the end of the day she's nodding off at the supper table before they're quite finished eating, and has to be roused by Ben who helps her to drowsily don her nightgown. 

A warm spell allows her to open the windows briefly during the mid-morning and air out the claim shanty. She feels clammy and unclean, and decides to heat enough water for a standing bath in the tub. 

It's pleasant, letting the warm water sluice down over her skin. She suds a bar of fine white soap through a clean rag and uses it to lather her underarms, down her torso. 

A series of crunching footsteps sounds from outside, and then Ben is pushing open the shanty door. He stops when he sees her, a wicked sort of grin taking over his features.

"Well ain't that a pretty sight." 

Rey rolls her eyes at him while he shuts the door, focusing on the rag in her hand. If she drags it a little slower over her breasts than she might have done if he weren't here, well…

"Felt like a bath," she says lightly.

Ben nods seriously. "It was a good inclination. I'm just worried you're missin' a few spots…"

"Where?" Rey frowns, craning her neck to try and look at her back.

"I'll get 'em for you." He holds out his hand for the rag and she hands it over, pretending to heave a sigh. Predictably, he continues soaping her breasts.

"I'm pretty sure I already got those spots," she says.

"Hmm," he says, using the rag to flick a nipple and humming in satisfaction when her breast jiggles. She laughs at him.

"Get my back at least."

He drags the rag around her belly and soaps between her shoulder blades, then lower and lower until he cups her buttocks in his large hands, not even pretending to try and clean them.

"Don't know if I told you how nice this bottom is," he says gruffly, kneading her flesh before giving her a brief smack with an open palm. Rey draws a sharp intake of breath, arching her back. Ben drags the rag across her skin, then dips between her cheeks, his fingers probing a bit through the cloth.

Rey squeaks.

"Just bein' thorough," Ben says, unrepentant, dropping the cloth in the bathwater. "I'll be out in the barn, just came in to get some cheese pans."

She watches him leave before rinsing herself off. Dressing in a clean set of combinations, she leans over the bathwater and cracks an egg in her hair, working the gooeyness into a lather before rinsing this out too.

The afternoon is quiet; Rey makes a few trips to the root cellar to gather ingredients for a stew. She sets out a few potatoes, onions, and some rather large carrots, wiping them down with a rag and beginning to chop. Ben wanders in, presumably finished setting the cheese. He watches her dice a potato before plucking the knife out of her hand. He sets it on top of the chest of drawers.

"What–" Rey whips around to protest.

But Ben catches her, presses between her shoulder blades, forcing her to bend over the table. "Stay still, sweetheart." His voice is a low growl in her ear. He rucks up her skirts, parting the gash in her combinations so her nether regions are exposed to the breeze of the shanty. "Papa hasn't had you in _days_."

Rey inhales as his fingers prod at her opening. They don't sink in easily; she's been caught unawares. Ben growls again and then he's falling to his knees, pressing his face between her legs.

The first, hot swipe of his tongue cuts through her. He catches her clitoris with the tip but then he's tonguing at her cunt, and Rey knows this is his real object, getting her wet enough to take him. 

" _Papa_ ," she whines petulantly, pressing herself against his face, trying to angle his tongue to her liking.

But he pulls away and then he's leaning over her again, licking a parallel swipe up her neck, pausing to catch her earlobe between his teeth and growl, "Didn't I tell you to stay still?"

His fingers sink in this time. He presses two into her slick cunt and she's gasping with the sudden intensity of it, stretched up onto her toes, back arching. 

" _There_ we go, you like that, don't you pretty girl?" He punctuates his words with quick thrusts of his fingers, scissoring them open inside of her, and _oh_ the stretch is good, but Rey wants–

"Papa, _please_ –"

"What do you want, sweetheart?" He's got his cock out now, she can feel the hot flesh rocking against her, dragging through her folds while his fingers continue to twist inside her. She whines again when he bumps against her clitoris. "Need Papa to pay attention to that little nub of yours, hmm?" He angles the head to catch– again and again– on her swollen bit of flesh, and Rey can feel herself building toward her crisis, her cries falling as incoherent babbles from her lips.

Ben pulls his fingers from her and Rey nearly cries in frustration, but then his thick head is pressing into her, and he's rubbing firm circles against her clitoris, and–

" _Fuck_ ," Ben swears, pulling out again. "Need the damned sheath." 

At this Rey does start to cry, her crisis so close it's nearly painful. Ben pauses behind her before he's grabbing for an item near her head, on the table, and then something rough and thick is pressing into her, and that combined with the renewed intensity of his fingers on her–

Rey shatters with a wail, clenching around the object in her cunt, her legs giving out entirely underneath her. Ben cruelly pushes her through a second crisis, using one hand to fuck her with the thick object, which she registers dimly must be a carrot. Her screams echo off the shanty walls and the tar-paper ceiling.

He lets up after this, leaving her spread out over the table, her skirts still rucked up and the carrot still wedged deep inside her. 

"Fuck if that ain't a pretty sight," he mutters. He shuffles around the shanty, but Rey is in an oblivious fog, occasionally clenching around the carrot as aftershocks shake through her. She feels him step up behind her again and pull the carrot free. "Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart," he growls in her ear before pushing into her. Rey can only moan, so thoroughly spent, rocked in time with his thrusts. 

"Lord, I missed this sweet cunt," Ben says through gritted teeth. He straightens up, smoothing his hands over the globes of her behind, his hips pumping in a measured beat. His thumb dips between her cheeks, spreading her slick along the seam of her, brushing over the furled ring of muscle there. A pause, and then he presses more firmly, tracing tight little circles on her asshole–

Rey chokes, seized by another wave of convulsions. Ben stutters in his thrusts, groaning, and then he's pounding into her _hard_ , leaning forward to bite at the nape of her neck, like he wants to subdue her. Another few thrusts and then his weight collapses over her back. She shudders again.

"Christ Almighty," Ben groans as he heaves himself to his forearms. Rey whimpers under him, feeling like she's been electrocuted, every nerve ending sensitized beyond belief, so even the barest brush of his whiskers as he kisses her neck have her clenching around him again. Ben groans louder. " _Fuck_ –"

He pulls himself out of her, out of harm's way, and even this sets her off again, quaking so hard that, without Ben holding her up, her position on the table becomes dubious at best. 

"Oh, shit, sweetheart–"

He catches her, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to the bed. He curls around her, petting her hair until Rey waves him off through the continuing aftershocks, still beyond speech. Eventually she lays quiet, and opens her eyes to find Ben watching her, not without some concern.

"Are you alright?"

Rey nods weakly, trying her voice, which still comes out as a gasp. "It just– felt really good."

"I only want to make you feel good, sweetheart," he says earnestly, reaching out to touch her. She bats him away again, and he laughs, heaving himself off the bed and untying the sheath. 

The afternoon is quiet. Rey finishes chopping vegetables while Ben does his own washing, standing naked in the tub near the stove. She watches him unabashedly, such a fine picture of a man, soaping up his muscled body, his tensed forearms, his heavy cock. With his hair wet his ears stick out something dreadful. Rey thinks he's the prettiest thing she's ever seen.

His eyes crinkle when he catches her gaze. "What're you lookin' at?"

Rey shakes her head, grinning cheekily at him. "Love you, Papa." She scoops some diced onions into the pot.

"Love you too, sweetheart," he says softly.

The carrot that he used to fuck her rolls on the floor under her feet. She stoops to pick it up, briskly cleaning it with a damp rag, before chopping it and dumping it into the pot as well.

They really can't afford to let anything go to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Rough-ish sex, bent over a table, with a minor. Object insertion (the object is a carrot and it goes in Rey's vagina.) _Little_ bit of anal play. Absolutely not one lick of plot.**
> 
> Please imagine these carrots. Thank you.
> 
> Not to bore you all with the details of my writing process, but this was originally also part of the mega-monster chapter which is now going to be four chapters. They are thematically very distinct and while I think it might've worked if they all came together it was a little jarring switching from this to the next segment. I'm sorry this is a bit short, I have not the stamina for so many words.
> 
> I hope you are all enjoying their homesteading chores. I realize I'm probably sanitizing Victorian life a little, so if you want the grungy, exhausting Real Deal you should totally check out this series on YouTube called [Victorian Farm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4apIM4l0laY&t=1s), which is a really neat production. The second [episode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgRz1LFVluQ) actually shows the process of doing laundry, which is where I got some of the inspiration for Rey's activities. [Here's](http://www.dishwasherrequired.com/laundry-in-victorian-times/) a cool blog post that lays out the whole shebang of Victorian laundry, including an interesting ad on the desirability of different sorts of wringers, or [mangles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mangle_\(machine\)). I thought Rey's process would be a bit different since they're in a pretty remote area in a tiny shanty in the middle of winter, so I let her skip a few steps.
> 
> Women really did wash their hair using eggs (putting on my chemist hat, this works because egg yolks contain proteins that can act as [emulsifiers](https://www.exploratorium.edu/cooking/eggs/eggscience.html) and bind both dirt/oil and water; this is also why egg yolk is used in mayonnaise and salad dressings). Bernadette Banner has a [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oek7W5IRAdg) in which she follows an Edwardian hair care routine that incorporates egg. I also found a Victorian lifestyle [blog](http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/beauty--grooming--washing.html) where a woman washes her hair with Castile soap. Both of these methods make it much easier to accomplish the hairstyles of the period; modern shampoos make hair too slippery.
> 
> Anyone else have really strong aftershocks after sex? No? Just me? 👀
> 
> Hope you're all doing well ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

Ben does more repairs on the barn and on the shanty roof; it's easier now, with the weather warming up, though there's the new issue of everything being constantly wet. They can hear the rushing of the creek beneath the ice and Rey hopes the shanty won't flood. 

Concerned about the general damp, Rey double-checks the root cellar, swinging the kerosene lamp into the corners to see if there are any puddles and rifling through their stores, reassuring herself they have enough to last until the trains can get through. Carrots and onions, barrels of oats and flour, lard and salt pork and smoked elk and dried beef. The wheels of cheese are mostly gone to hungry parishioners, and the dried goods have dwindled significantly since the beginning of winter. In one corner she finds a burlap sack, half hidden behind a barrel, and she frowns in confusion. She opens it to find small potatoes– the seed potatoes, she realizes. But where are the rest of them? Ben bought nearly ten bushels back in the fall.

Ben is still working on the barn roof when she comes up from the root cellar; she picks her way through the slushy snow back to the shanty, mulling over the discovery. Surely the potatoes hadn't just disappeared, and she certainly hadn't had anything to do with them. The only conclusion was that Ben must have given them away with Pastor Dameron. 

Rey sits heavily at the table. It was good to think that the potatoes were out on someone's dinner plate, and that fewer people would go hungry because of them. Surely this was Ben's reasoning; she remembers his stricken face after he went around in the sleigh to check on families. But that was before the wheat had come, and things were not so dire now, and Rey had _asked him to wait_ –

What were they to do, in the spring? Ten bushels of potatoes was nothing to sneeze at; surely that was a significant portion of the money Ben had made last summer and fall, from the cheese and the pork and the wheat harvest. 

Rey makes a loaf of bread and pulls out some sausages and a few eggs, cracking them into the frying pan.

She can hear Ben re-shoveling the slush right in front of the shanty. He stomps his feet at the door and then pushes into the house, flicking sweaty hair out of his eyes to shoot her a grin before collapsing heavily in his seat at the table. Rey passes him a wet rag to wash up without saying anything.

"Nearly done," Ben tells her. "And the shanty's not so bad off, just wanna reinforce it in case we get some real heavy spring snow."

Rey nods, passing him a plate of food. 

"What'd you get up to today?"

Rey shrugs, biting into a bit of sausage.

Ben watches her, chewing on a hunk of bread. 

"Everything alright?"

Rey nods, and then shakes her head, swallowing. "Why didn't you tell me about the seed potatoes?"

"Ah." Ben looks sheepish. He puts his bread down and reaches for her hand. "Sweetheart–"

Rey moves her hand off the table, wringing it with the other in her lap. "I just– I've been trying to make sure the stores last until spring, and we'd _talked_ about the other things we gave away, and I don't– what'll we do come planting? What about next year? We can't help other people if _we're_ starving Ben–"

Her eyes have started to smart and she swallows again around the lump in her throat. Ben looks stricken, his arm still stretched out towards her, resting on the table. 

"Rey–" His hand reaches out again before he seems to realize she's got her own limbs quite tightly knotted and pulls it back to clench into a fist near his plate. "I won't ever let you starve, I promise."

Rey shakes her head bitterly. How can he promise that? "So we don't need them? What'll we plant instead–?"

"I'll buy more," Ben interrupts. "When the train gets through, I'll buy more. I'm sorry, I shoulda– I shoulda told you about giving 'em away, but you seemed so worried and we _don't_ need them–" 

He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair and studying his plate. Rey watches him, arms still knotted. 

"Truth is, we'd be fine if we ate through all our stores this winter, we could start over a hundred times if we had to. And– and I didn't tell you, 'cause I'm ashamed of why that's true." He looks up at her, his eyes sad and liquid; his gaze burns her from the inside out. "I didn't finish tellin' you the rest of my story, 'bout my past. But, I will, if you'll hear it, and I can only hope it don't make you hate me."

Rey twists her hands tighter. "I couldn't hate you," she says. "I'm just– I realize it's not my place, to question you–"

Ben shakes his head. "I wanna share everything I got with you, sweetheart." His gaze is supplicating; she wants to reach for him. "But you'd be well justified in hating me, after the things I've done…"

Rey shifts in her seat before untwisting her hands. Her fingers ache. She reaches out tentatively and he responds by grasping her hand in both of his. "I'll hear– whatever it is you want to tell me. And I won't hate you, whatever you've done. I couldn't ever hate you."

"Sure hope that's true," Ben says quietly; there's a whisper of hoarseness to his voice and he squeezes her hand. 

Rey waits for him to start talking. The sausage and eggs have grown cold and congealed on her plate, but she's no longer hungry. A waste. 

Ben takes a breath and squeezes her hand again. "I told you I rode outta Denver City with the devil on my heels, found myself somewhere in the foothills?"

Rey nods.

"I was real discombobulated, and scared outta my mind. Didn't know quite where I was, only that I couldn't go back to where I'd come from, in case they were still after me. So I pushed on, deeper and deeper into the hills, following a ravine. Had just the one pistol on me, and a dead-tired horse, and I can tell ya, every rock and tree and bush looks like a bandit or a bear in the dark." 

Ben shakes his head.

"Wandered higher and higher for three days, growing more and more desperate, 'til I was near starved and half-delirious. Think I took a tumble. In any case, I woke up in a little miner's shanty, perched somewhere on the side of a rocky cliff."

"Someone found you?" Rey's not sure where his story is going. 

Ben nods. "Old codger, out on his lonesome, trying to strike it rich in gold. Name of Palpatine."

He pauses to take a sip of water from his tin cup. 

"He wasn't so bad, fed me at least, didn't ask too many questions 'bout where I'd come from or how I'd gotten there. Gave me a chance to recuperate. Then his gang came back."

Rey's eyebrows shoot up. "His gang?"

Ben nods again.

"Palpatine was a miner, alright, only he wasn't depending on chance to strike gold. Had his... _associates_... out and scouting for him. First hint of a lucky vein they'd go and harass whoever found it, make it real attractive to clear off the claim.

"'Course I didn't know that at the time, just saw this group of real seedy fellas ride up to the shanty one day, all masked up. Thought they were gonna rob us. Went for my pistol, couldn't let them kill an old man like that. But he spoke to 'em, called 'em out by name, and they backed down. And he turned to me and told me I had the right stuff, already showed I'd be loyal to him, and offered me a chance to join."

"And you did," Rey states quietly.

"Yes," Ben sighs. "It's not like they forced me into it, I take responsibility in full. But I wasn't sure what else I'd do. Didn't think I could go back to Denver City, still felt like Luke had washed his hands of me. Where else would I go? Everything I had was back in that boarding house room and I was more than a thousand miles from anyone who cared for me.

"And– and I think I was angry. Angry at my parents, angry at Luke, angry at the generals who led that massacre. Angry at the Union. Primed and ready to turn my back on everything decent. So I took on the name of 'Kylo Ren' and covered my face with a black cloth, like I was the reaper himself, and I joined 'em."

There's a long silence. Rey's not sure what to say.

"Did you...?" She trails, not sure how to phrase what she's trying to ask.

"I wasn't a good man, Rey." Ben releases her hand to rub his face with his palms. "Worse, I was so _good_ at it, bein' bad. Never felt much sympathy for the miners. Seediest sons of bitches I ever met, and what right had they, to be on those claims? What right had any of us, bein' on land that wasn't ours?"

Rey purses her lips. "So you found… gold?"

"We found a lotta gold," Ben corrects. "It was always a delicate operation, waitin' for them to mine what they could, then move in before there was a lotta talk about the place. We'd do our own minin' sometimes, but we were never ones for hard work, really. Think Palpatine was in it more for the cruelty than anything, sometimes I thought he was mad with it, did things I wouldn't do at my meannest. But I watched him do it. And I didn't say nothin' about it. 

"But as time wore on, you know, I started feelin' more n' more uneasy about it. Palpatine reminded me of Old Man Snoke sometimes, salivatin' with the power he had over powerless people. Got another sorry son of a gun to join up– called him Brendol's Bastard, hell if I know why; rest of us called him The Kid. He was as cruel as Palpatine, and twice as greedy. Always had his face covered, don't think I ever saw it plain, but he had shifty eyes, beady and murderous, like a rat. Didn't need a reason to go after a man… or a woman…"

Ben shakes his head. "Saw him pulled off some poor girl in a saloon more than once, sick fucking bastard. And drawin' attention to us, when we were wanted in three separate counties. Shoulda shot him myself, but I brought it up with Palpatine instead. Stupid. Ought to have known how it'd turn out."

Rey's eyes are wide. "What happened?"

"Palpatine set us up to square off against each other, said he couldn't have disagreement in the band. So I took aim, and so did he, and we both missed first shot. Only he kept shootin'. Turned into a full shoot-out. Couple of the others caught some bullets. Then Palpatine pulled his pistol, and I thought he was gonna end it, finally, but he pulled his shot, pointed at me instead. 

"Saw it like in slow motion, and somehow my pistol with its lone remaining bullet found its way up to point back at him, and I got him with a shot straight between the eyes. Killed that bastard stone dead, and I'll not say that God's green Earth isn't a thousand times better for it."

There's a long silence. Ben peers anxiously at her, and Rey reaches out her hand to reassure him. He grasps it tightly in his own.

"Whatever happened after was a bit of a blur. Half the band was hit, think The Kid was wounded, and I just hopped on my horse and high-tailed it outta there. On the run again, only this time I was older and wiser, and I had a plan. I was done with them, but I wasn't leavin' empty-handed. I'd had my cut of the loot, but Palpatine had the lion's share hidden under the floorboards of his shanty, thinkin' he was real sly. Well I pried them up and found a trunk full of gold that I strapped to my horse. Rode outta the mountains and out to the open plains. I was still wary of Denver City, so I made for Omaha.

"Got about half-way there when my horse keeled over; hadn't been thinkin' clearly and rode the poor thing into the ground. Bit of a pickle, I was stuck out in the open with a trunk full of stolen treasure. So I decided to bury it, mark the spot well so I could find it again, continued on by foot. Railroad wasn't half so complete back in those days, but I finally found a depot. Headed back East."

Rey frowns. "But you came back for it?"

"Years later," Ben says. "At the time I took just enough to finance my trip, and some extra."

Rey nods slowly. Ben looks searchingly at her face, squeezing her hand like a lifeline.

"So that's all there is for it, sweetheart. I'm a criminal, and an outlaw. I'm real sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I was just– I was so ashamed, and afraid. That you'd be… upset, or afraid of me. I'd never, ever hurt you, I promise–"

"Ben," Rey interrupts. "I'm not– you could've robbed the Queen herself and I'd still love you."

He flashes a watery smile at her, relief palpable in his expression, and tugs her up out of her chair to sit in his lap, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. She rains gentle kisses all over his face, and feels the tension drain out of him. 

"I left that life behind just as soon as I rode out of those mountains, I promise you, and I've been trying to atone ever since, make things right with God again, for everything that happened in the war, and after–"

Rey captures his lips in hers, her arms thrown around his neck. He leans into it, his lips plush and soft beneath her own. Ben stands, carrying her to the bed, and they lay entwined on top of the quilt, sharing slow, heavy kisses. It's comforting more than anything; there is no urgency, no drive to shed clothing or engage in congress. She kisses every feature on his face and he slips his tongue between her lips, tangling with hers in a way that makes her shiver. 

They lay together for a long while, until Rey's stomach growls and they both chuckle and move to light the kerosene lamp. She clears the sorry remains of their supper and makes a quick batch of johnny cakes while Ben scrubs the dishes in the wash basin. 

"What did you do after you went back East?" she asks. It's dawned on her that Ben has lived a whole lifetime longer than she has, that despite his long recollections he still hasn't told her everything he's done in the years before he met her.

"Went home. Or at least, I tried to. Found out upon arrival that my parents had been lost at sea; my father's boat was never found, went down somewhere in the Caribbean. Our house had been reclaimed by the bank, and some unscrupulous lawyer must've made off with the bulk of the fortune somehow, I never did manage to track down how all that money went missing. But I'd been presumed dead, and Luke was gone too, he wasn't answering letters sent through to Kansas, so there'd been no heirs to bother with. All that was left was a trunk of my mother's; had that quilt, bunch of her clothes, the brooch..."

He trails off sadly. 

"Stayed in Boston for a while, tryin' to reclaim my inheritance but it was hard as all get out, and my skills didn't much translate to livin' in the city. What was I good for? Farmin', and robbin'." He shakes his head. "Went back to Luke's farm out in Springfield. It was good for awhile, but it was like livin' in the past, I couldn't move on. And I still had some… complicated feelings about Luke. One day an old acquaintance dropped by, said he'd heard Luke had made his way to the Alaska territory, looking to save souls. It felt like the final piece I needed, to put things to rest. My parents were dead and gone, but I could still forgive Luke, so I set out to follow after him."

"Did you find him?" Rey shoves another bite of johnny cake in her mouth.

Ben shakes his head. "It was like followin' a ghost. Met an old Russian who drew me a map to his location, an island somewhere in the Gulf. But I never could find it. It was like Luke was denying me again, this one last chance at peace."

He heaves a sigh. "Anyhow, ran outta money eventually. Worked on a ship to earn my passage back to San Francisco, then took a train out to Nebraska. I'd originally planned just to collect the gold and head East again, but when I got here I found a town'd sprung up, named after a great Sioux chief. And I found Dameron and his wife here, trying to create a decent, integrated Christian society out on the plains. Seemed as good a place to start over as any. So I helped 'em out with the church, and the school. Told 'em it was my inheritance money. Best thing I coulda done with that loot."

Ben looks up at her and smiles. "And then you came along, and I thought it was all worth it, just to be able to pull you off that train."

Rey blushes deeply, smiling shyly back at him. 

They go to bed and Ben pulls her on top of him, resuming his kissing from before, swallowing her quiet gasps as she sinks down on his member, the sheath firmly in place between them. He's gentler than usual, stroking his hands over her back and shoulders, holding her bottom cradled in his large hands as he thrusts into her heat. Rey reaches her peak with a silent shudder, and he follows close behind, grunting into her neck, and then mouthing there as he softens within her. 

Rey falls asleep with a sense of satisfaction and peace, like she'd been cleansed somehow. The sound of dripping ice makes a percussive lullaby in the dark. 

The feeling of quiet continues into the next day, along with the thaw, and Rey thinks maybe they've emerged from winter, that Ben's confession has somehow ended the spell over the town and the prairie, so they can return to the halcyon, summer days of plenty. She indulges, pulling the ingredients out to make a cake, for no reason other than that she can. 

While the cake is baking, she thinks to ask Ben for some of the milk before he sets the cheese so she can whip some cream to go over the top. The yard is muddy and waterlogged, and she's just started to pick her way across when he emerges from the barn, already holding a large jar full of fresh milk, smiling softly at her. 

A series of slushy hoofbeats sounds from across the creek, and they look up to see Finn picking his way carefully into the yard, gazing forlornly at them from his saddle. Rey gasps, clapping her hand over her mouth. 

_Zorii_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Flashbacks to old timey gang activity. Ben talks about killing someone (Palpatine). Referenced sexual assault. Sex scene with a minor. Zorii dies.**
> 
> I rewrote this chapter a few times, and while I'm still not super pleased with it I'm publishing it so I can move on to better (smuttier) things. The emotional line here was hard to walk, so I'll just editorialize a little and say that while Ben thinks he _should_ feel bad about his gang involvement, he's not nearly as bothered by his activities with Palpatine as he is by his actions (or inaction) at Sand Creek, which is why he was a lot rawer during his last flashback chapter. 
> 
> 1865-1870 was the tail end of the Pike's Peak Gold Rush, and before the Colorado Silver Boom. Most miners in the region were panning for [placer gold](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Placer_mining) at this point. I imagined Kylo Ren and company operating largely in the [Leadville Mining District](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leadville_mining_district), which was the most productive section of the Colorado Mineral Belt. If travel ever becomes a thing again, the annual [Leadville Boom Days](http://www.leadvilleboomdays.org/) festival is some good, pioneer-y, Victorian fun. There is an excellent depiction of placer gold panning in The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, which is on Netflix.
> 
> The account of the founding of Red Cloud, Nebraska is a bit fictionalized. It was indeed named after [Red Cloud](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Cloud), although he was the leader of the Oglala Lakota and not the general chief of all Sioux (although this was a common misconception at the time). He was still alive at this point. His wiki link is worth a read as it details how the mid-century battles with the [plains tribes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Native_American_tribes_in_Nebraska) gave way to broken treaties and the establishment of the reservation system.
> 
> The area of the town of [Red Cloud](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Cloud,_Nebraska) was (questionably) ceded by the Pawnee in 1833, and opened to homesteaders in 1870; it was incorporated in 1871. The town was _not_ established as an explicitly integrated community; I realize this is some 21st century revisionism, however I did draw on some real [elements](https://tinyurl.com/yyd4434j) of the period. At the end of Reconstruction in 1877 (which is about when Ben would have arrived in Red Cloud) a lot of former slaves fled the south, and some portion of them made their way to the midwest. There was an especially large wave in 1879, called the "Exodusters," which found their way to a number of Nebraskan towns or became homesteaders; there were several examples of Black and white communities that existed more or less harmoniously at the end of the 19th century.
> 
> Ben certainly came from an integrationist family; the abolitionist movement in Massachusetts led a [civil rights campaign](https://www.jstor.org/stable/273828?seq=1) in the 1840's that forced the repeal of a state law against interracial marriage, desegregated coaches of rail lines, and integrated school systems. 
> 
> I see 2020 has concocted a new batch of horrors for us all; hope you all are staying safe and healthy ❤️
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this chapter deals a lot with Victorian mourning rituals, and so there will be some depiction of a corpse. I was hesitant to put it in the tags because it's a little jarring out of context, but I didn't want to catch anyone by surprise. Additional content warnings are in the end notes.
> 
> Thank you to [@MindyCakes](https://twitter.com/MindyCakes) for this beautiful moodboard! ❤️

The curtains are drawn inside the Damerons' house. The mirrors on the walls are covered with black cloth, and the handsome clock in the parlor is stopped at 9:53. 

Rey sits next to Rose on the sofa, their hands clasped together. Rose is very pale, but she isn't crying. Temiri is propped on her other side, drooling on her dark bodice.

"I've never gone into mourning before," Rose says quietly. "And with the trains still stopped we won't be able to do it properly. The General Store only had a yard of crepe."

Rey clucks sympathetically. 

The door from the kitchen opens and Mrs. Dameron emerges. She looks drawn and exhausted, but, like Rose, not tearful. She plucks Temiri from the sofa and settles into the wingback chair to Rey's left, opening her black dress to give him her nipple.

Rey smiles sadly at her, unsure of what to say. "Can I bring you anything?" She reaches her hand out. Mrs. Dameron shakes her head, but catches Rey's fingers with her own, squeezing tightly.

A series of footsteps sounds on the stairs, and Mrs. Syndulla and old lady Maz come into the parlor.

"She's ready to be brought down," Mrs. Syndulla says to Mrs. Dameron, who nods stiffly. "I'll go tell the men."

She leaves, and old lady Maz comes to stand on Mrs. Dameron's other side; she's so short she doesn't have to crouch to look cup her cheek and look sympathetically into her eyes.

"Poor duck," she says. "We made her look real pretty for you."

Mrs. Dameron nods again. "I'm just glad she's passed her suffering. She's gone to her reward now."

The front door swings open and Ben and Finn and Mr. Syndulla traipse through the hallway to the stairs; a few moments later their heavy footsteps descend slowly, and they carry the coffin holding Zorii into the parlor and set it on the low table that's been brought into the room for this purpose. 

Zorii is tiny in death. Her hair is arranged gracefully around her face, her eyes closed as if she were sleeping. She's dressed in her nicest blue dress. 

Pastor Dameron had followed the other men when they came in the house and he comes into the parlor now and stands in front of the coffin, openly weeping. He reaches out to touch Zorii's face, brushes the little curls on her forehead. Rose stands and goes to take her father's elbow, tears streaking down her face as she looks at her sister's still form. 

Mrs. Dameron rises, tucking herself back into her dress, and goes to her husband's other side, bouncing Temiri on her hip. Rey watches the family with a lump in her throat, but she swallows it down and goes into the kitchen to find Shara and Kes playing with Kes's tin soldiers. She sits down at one of the chairs and takes the general, issuing orders to the troops in a gruff voice. 

"Advance! Advance, you yellow-bellied cowards!" She dances him up and down in rage. Shara giggles and Kes stares at the little toy wide-eyed, his fist in his mouth.

Mrs. Syndulla pushes open the door.

"Bring them in, then" she says brusquely, "so they can see her before the photographer arrives."

Rey drops the toy as if scalded, ushering Shara in front of her through the door and picking up Kes. She grunts a little as she carries him into the parlor; he's getting bigger. 

Shara gazes at the coffin solemnly, but Kes leans forward in Rey's arms such that she almost loses her grasp on him, babbling away in his high-pitched voice. "Zorii? You play... Zorii! Wake up, Zorii…"

Rey tries to shush him, but his babbles crescendo to wails, and all she can do is hug him tight. He buries his face in her neck and she can feel his hot tears on her skin. She pats his back, taking deep breaths. 

"I'll take him," Rose says, her voice hoarse. Rey peels his arms away from her neck and passes him to Rose. His cries dwindle to sobs. 

Rey wants to edge over to Ben but Mrs. Syndulla beckons her into the kitchen and they start to make a spread of food for the mourners; Rey's cake from the morning sits unfrosted in one corner of the table. Old lady Maz brings a basket of linens down the stairs and Rey watches Finn burn them in the yard through the kitchen window.

Parishioners and other neighbors filter through as the day wears on. Around the mid-afternoon a sleigh arrives with two men who hop out and heave a trunk of photography equipment to the front door between them. Curious, Rey waits until Mrs. Syndulla is occupied before sidling back to the parlor.

"...outside will have better light," the taller of the two men is saying as he looks around the room critically. A box covered in black cloth is propped up on stilts in a corner and the room smells vaguely sweet. The other man turns and Rey can't help but exclaim.

"Mr. Bridger!"

"Hello, Rey," he smiles at her. 

"I didn't realize you were a photographer," she says in a more reserved voice, blushing a bit from her outburst. 

"Mr. Dume is," he says. "And I help."

She nods. The discussion over location seems to have reached a conclusion and there's movement to the front door; Ben and Finn hoist Zorii between them and carry her carefully out to the front steps where the rest of the Damerons gather around the coffin. Rose frets with her skirt and Rey knows she's worried how it will look later, with none of them dressed properly. 

Mr. Dume balances his camera on the soggy ground of the yard, instructing the family to hold their pose. Rey notices that Finn hangs back and it's a bit jarring to her; she always considers him one of the Damerons, it's odd to remember he's not really part of the family.

They hold their poses stiffly while the plate is exposed, their faces drawn and stern. It seems a small eternity, but Mr. Dume finally closes the shutter and they all relax. He hurries back into the house to his covered box.

Mr. Bridger hangs back in the yard. 

"How are your studies coming?" he asks.

"Alright," Rey says. "I've... well, I've gotten through everything in the books I have."

Mr. Bridger's eyebrows raise. "All the mathematics exercises?"

Rey nods. "And I've read that whole history book. Twice."

He beams. "Rey– I've been thinking. You ought to take the college entrance exam in the spring. You'll have to go to Lincoln for it– I can only administer the 8th grade state examination– but you'd pass, I know you would."

"Are you sure?" Rey furrows her brow. "I haven't even been in school a year…"

Mr. Bridger nods eagerly. "I'd help you with the rest of the material, we could go over it together before school if you like. I mean, if your– if Mr. Solo lets you come again."

Rey's eyes flick up to find Ben near the barn, talking to Finn.

"He'll let me. I mean, he was only worried about the storms."

Mr. Dume comes out of the house again and starts to set up another shot, this time a close-up of Zorii alone. Rey walks over to Rose, who clutches Rey's arm tight in her own, watching Mr. Dume with the camera. Rey gazes at Zorii's face, trying to memorize the shadow of her chin, the shape of her brow. Soon they won't be able to look at her ever again, and Rey's glad they'll have the tintypes to study in the future. 

"I'm going to weave a bit of her hair into a bracelet," Rose says. "For Ma to wear."

Mr. Dume closes the shutter. "That's that," he says, and hurries inside to develop the plate. Ben and Finn move to the stairs to carry Zorii back into the parlor.

The wake lasts a few more hours, and then Rey helps to clean up the kitchen. It's dusk by the time she and Ben are whisked away in their sleigh, the horses trotting over hardened drifts of slush in the gathering dark. 

"They'll have to wait to bury her," Ben says in a low voice. "Ground's still frozen."

Rey clings to his arm on the drive back, and then walks stiffly back to the shanty while he unbridles the horses and does the evening milking. She lights the kerosene lamp, tidying the kitchen of the items left out that morning. She washes her face and neck in the porcelain bowl, scrubs her hands clean of dirt, then prepares some hot water for Ben to do his own washing. 

She stares at the light of the fire through the stove door, arms crossed tightly in front of her, and when she feels Ben's hand on her shoulder she startles.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

Rey nods, but her throat tightens up until she's gasping and crying, collapsing into the arms that draw her tight against his chest. He scoops her up and they sit in the rocking chair together, so reminiscent of Rey's first days in the shanty. 

Ben runs a soothing hand over her back, but it barely quiets her. She clings to his neck, feeling the sobs wrack through her, all the emotions she'd pent up throughout the day breaking free and running down her face. 

Her heart hurts so badly, for the Damerons, and for Zorii, thinking about her being buried under the ground, never hearing her giggle again. She thinks again to her pretty face, so still and serene in her small coffin.

They hadn't had a wake for Baby. The nuns had just taken his still form from her arms and buried him in the yard, with the other children who had failed to thrive. His little face lives only in her memory now. 

"Shh, shh, it's alright, sweetheart, you're okay…" Ben drops kisses to her head and kneads at her shoulders. At last she slumps in his arms, and he has to help her out of her dress and into her nightgown, whiskers brushing her nose as he kisses tears off her cheeks.

In bed he cuddles her close, and Rey mouths at his neck, his shoulders, his ears. When he groans she writhes in his arms, turning so her bottom slots against his groin, dragging his hands up to palm her breasts. His nightshirt rides up with her motion against him, and his hard cock juts against her core. She whimpers as it drags against her clitoris and she reaches her hand down to direct it into her cunt.

Ben tries to pull away, like as not to go retrieve that blasted sheath, but Rey clings tighter to him.

"No–  _ Papa _ ," her voice comes out high-pitched and needy, but she can't feel embarrassed by it, she wants his arms around her so badly, she wants to feel him inside her. 

Ben's breathing heavily in her ear, his left hand still kneading her breast under nightgown.

"Just– I'll just put the tip in, then," he gasps, slotting the blunt head against her lips. The slide is delicious, and Rey whines when she feels it breach her, so smooth and _huge_. She bucks against him, trying to take him deeper. Ben groans deeply. "You– _God_ you feel so good, sweetheart."

He thrusts shallowly, kissing her neck and jaw. Rey whimpers and he stuffs two fingers into her mouth; she sucks gratefully on them, worrying his knuckles with her tongue and shifting against him so that the change in angle causes him to bottom out, forcing a gasp from her throat. Ben nearly chokes.

" _Fuck_ – I'll... I'll pull out, sweetheart, I promise–" He thrusts in again, deeper and harder this time, and Rey clings to his arm, teeth closing over his fingers. The drag of his cock inside her, forcing her to part around him, it's _exquisite_. Rey can feel herself starting to shake, her breaths coming in quick whines while pleasure floods every part of her, and when he reaches down to press against her clitoris, she clenches around him, her head thrown back and her toes curling under.

" _Hnghh_ ," Ben pulls out of her and splatters almost immediately against her backside and up her back; she can feel his spend soaking through her nightgown to grow cold and clammy against her skin.

He collapses next to her, breathing heavily, stroking her arm while she trembles. He notices the spend on her back and wipes at her haphazardly with her nightgown. "Ah, shit, sorry–" 

She shakes her head, burrowing her face into the pillow. "I can wash it tomorrow, s'okay."

He chuckles while she shucks off the offending garment, and makes sure to clean her up before pulling her against him again under the covers. It's nice, to be nude in his arms, her skin against his (it takes a mere suggestion for him to shed his nightshirt too). He seems to agree, nuzzling into her neck and letting his hands wander with abandon, mapping her belly and chest and thighs.

In the morning he has her again, before the sun fully rises. He pulls out to splatter her face, her mouth open in ecstasy, so that she tastes him on her lips when she cleans them with her tongue.

Rey goes to school again as the thaw continues. Ben nervously drives her in every morning, glancing skyward the whole ride, and Rey's certain that he finds things to do around town rather than go home. 

Mr. Bridger is good to his word, and meets with her before school to probe her gaps in knowledge, so he can mark out sections of various books for her to study for the exam. 

"Excellent work, Rey!" He slaps his knee in satisfaction after she rattles off her European geography. She sits back in her seat, brushing her hair behind her ear with a blush. He leans forward, covering her hand with his on his desk. "Knew you'd be on track."

She smiles at him, a bit uncertain all of a sudden, as his thumb rubs circles on her skin. 

"I think I ought to study my grammar a bit more," she says, trying for a distraction. "I'm worried I've overlooked it."

Mr. Bridger beams at her, circling his thumb one last time before withdrawing.

"I'm certain you're in good shape," he says, "but I can mark some sections of this primer for you if you like."

Rey nods, thanking him.

"You'll like Lincoln," he tells her while he rifles through the book. "Has a much more... metropolitan feel than here, probably more like what you're used to, back East. Excellent university, Athens of all plains, all the papers say so." He looks up, thumb holding down the page. "They'd be lucky to have a student like you."

Rey smiles at him again, a bit more at ease. He's being awfully kind to her, coming in so early to help her with her studies. 

The other students begin to file in. Rey finds her seat in the back, between Rose and Cal Kestis. Shara is at the front of the classroom, and Rey waves to her, her heart clenching at Zorii's absence in the second row of seats. 

It's odd, being back at school, having to follow someone else's schedule, instead of obeying her own whims and the list of chores to be done. She finds the pages marked in the grammar primer and completes the exercises listed there. Glancing up to see that Mr. Bridger is still busy with the younger students at the front, she pulls out her Latin declensions; she made Ben write out a more extensive list, worried it might show up on the qualifying exam. She asked Mr. Bridger, but it seemed he doesn't know much in the way of Latin, and she doesn't want to insult his knowledge.

At lunch she coaxes Rose and Shara into a game of tag with the others, and it feels good to run and laugh, breathless in the still-chilly air, stumbling over piles of dirty snow and slush. Rose is reserved still, but Rey manages to make her giggle, in between bites from their lunch pails, about Mr. Syndulla's rather aggressive whiskers, which stick out so far from his face and have been slicked with so much pomade she's worried they might impale someone. Rose is bent double with laughter while Rey dramatically pretends to fend off his facial hair.

A low whistle sounds in the far distance. Rose straightens up.

"Could it be?" Her eyebrows are so high they disappear into the curls that overhang her forehead.

Rey looks back with wide eyes. "The train?" 

They both leap to their feet and rush to climb a nearby snowdrift, scrambling to peer at the horizon. A plume of smoke hangs heavy over the prairie, and they can hear the shouts of men, working to clear the tracks ahead of the engine.

"I gotta go tell Pa," Rose says, turning away. "Oh dear. Goodness gracious. Would you mind Shara, please?"

She hurries out of the schoolyard, walking as quickly as she can over the slush and ice, wringing her hands. The excitement in the schoolyard is growing, and Mr. Bridger steps out of the schoolhouse to investigate the commotion. Rey makes her way over to him.

"The train has come!" 

He grins. "At last! May as well let out for the day, not like these hooligans will pay much attention anyhow." He rolls his eyes conspiratorially at her. "We could go over your grammar lesson if you like."

"Oh! Thank you, but I'd better find Be– Mr. Solo. He's around town somewhere."

Mr. Bridger nods. "Tomorrow morning, then?"

Rey nods back, smiling while she turns to go. "Yes, thank you! I'll see you then!" 

She finds Shara and they gather their things, and Rose's, from the schoolhouse and follow the rest of the students down 4th avenue into town. Where would Ben be? Surely the General Store could only occupy him for so long. He mentioned going to the saloon once, perhaps there?

She leads Shara along to the side street that leads to the saloon.

"Well, well." Rey jumps, turning to see a figure emerge from the shadows next to a barn. "If it ain't Solo's little slut."

It's Armitage Hux. He leers at them, stepping closer in the road. Rey tries to subtly angle herself in front of Shara. 

"Hello, Mr. Hux," she says, glancing around; they're quite alone. She tries to shake him off quickly. "The train's come, so we're just going to get–"

"And Dameron's little girl, too," he says, as if he hasn't heard her at all, peering around her at Shara and stepping closer still. Rey falters back. "Where's your sister, girlie? She's such a pretty little chinadoll. What I wouldn't give to–"

There's a flutter of movement out of the corner of Rey's eye, and she raises her hand reflexively, her voice coming out desperate and shrill.

"Hello! Train's come!"

It's Ben. He sees Hux and charges toward him like a bull.

"Get the _fuck_ away from her, Hux," he spits. He pushes Rey behind him. Hux just smiles, stepping back into the shadows of the barn. 

"No harm intended, Solo." His hands are raised. " _She_ spoke to _me_."

Rey shakes her head angrily at Hux from behind Ben, beyond speech. His eyes glitter back at her, smug and dangerous.

"Get outta here," Ben says, sweeping his huge hand in front of him. "Before I call the sheriff."

At this Hux gives an outright guffaw, but he waggles his fingers at them while he retreats down the street. "See you later, girls."

Ben turns to face them.

"Rey," he says through gritted teeth. "What're you doin' down here?"

"School's let out, the train's come," she says in a high-pitched voice. "Rose went to go tell the Pastor."

Ben nods stiffly, grabbing her hand and starting to pull her back toward the depot; Rey catches Shara with her other hand and tugs her along. 

The depot is milling with people, all talking excitedly while the train puffs its way slowly up to the station. Rey pulls Shara in close, on edge after their encounter with Hux. 

"Ho!" She whips around to see Finn driving their team, Pastor Dameron standing next to him, clutching his hat to his head. They skid to a stop and the Pastor jumps out, clapping Ben on the shoulder.

"Solo, good, you're here. Thank the Lord that Rosie came to tell me. We've got to find a way to talk to the distributor– they can't possibly have enough to fill all the backlogged orders, and some folks have gone without meat for _months_ –"

He bustles off through the crowd and Ben follows after. Rey and Shara are left with Finn.

"Hey, Rey," he grins at her. "Back at school?"

"Mm-hmm," she smiles. "Studying to take the college entrance exam."

He whistles. "Sounds real tough. That'll be you some day, eh Shara?" He scoops her up onto his back so she giggles madly. "C'mon, they'll probably be awhile."

They pile into the sleigh and he clicks at the horses so they trot off down the road.

"How have things been?" Rey asks him quietly. He shrugs, glancing at Shara in the back seat.

"Pretty sad," he says in a low voice. "Everyone's just… down. Hurts we can't bury her yet, you know, and Rose and Kaydel've been upset about the mourning clothes, think they're disrespecting her somehow."

"But the trains haven't–" Rey starts, but he waves her down.

"I know, I know. It's just hard not to be able to go through the motions, you know?"

"Yeah." Rey bites her lip. "How… how are you doing, though? And the Pastor?"

"Well, you know the Pastor's an emotional man..." He pauses, his expression distant and a little wry, before shaking his head. Rey wonders what he's thinking about. "As for me, I'm alright, just miss that little peanut a whole heck of a lot."

Rey smiles sadly at him, grasping his hand that isn't holding the reins. She thinks of him hanging back when the photographer was there, how his grief won't be documented. She can't think of how to ask him about it.

They pull into the Damerons' yard. Rey helps Shara out of the sleigh, gathering their things while Shara runs ahead to the door. Rose opens it.

"Oh! You've got my books, thank goodness." She takes them out of Rey's arms and they all sit in the kitchen with cups of tea. Finn comes in too, and Rose fusses over him immediately, giving him hot water and a rag to wash his face and hands, cutting him a large slice of cake to go with his tea. They all talk seriously of the train, and who the first provisions will go to, and when they can expect the next delivery.

Mrs. Dameron comes into the kitchen to investigate the hubbub, Temiri at her hip and Kes clinging to her apron.

"Train's come, Ma," Rose says, pouring her a cup of tea and passing her a slice of cake.

"That's a relief," Mrs. Dameron says, sitting at the table. "For all the hungry souls here. And we'll be able to get some crepe, at last."

Ben and Pastor Dameron skid into the yard in the late afternoon. Finn and Rey help them unload parcels and barrels into the barn.

"Delivered to a few families already," Pastor Dameron says, "but the rest'll have to wait for tomorrow. Wish there'd been more coal, but the train stopped at a half-dozen other towns before us, cleaned 'em out…"

Ben mentions getting back to do the milking, and he and Rey drive off into the setting sun. 

"What were you doin' in that part a' town?" he asks abruptly, turning the horses onto the slick track that leads to their homestead.

"What?" Rey's startled; in the excitement of the train and the afternoon with the Damerons she's quite forgotten her run-in with Hux. 

"Near the saloon. You ought not to go there, there's rough folk around, and–"

"I was looking for _you_ ," Rey interrupts him hotly. "To tell you the train'd come. And if it's so unseemly then why were you there?"

"It's not safe for you–"

"So where _am_ I allowed to walk, then? It's not as if Armitage Hux is confined to that block of town–"

He harrumphs in frustration, staring ahead at the track.

"I know it ain't… fair," he says after a long pause. "I just– if anything happened to you– I'd die, Rey." 

He looks at her so beseechingly that she can't help but relent, laying her head on his shoulder. He throws his arm around her, pulling her closer.

"He's a horrible man," she mutters. "The things he was saying about Rose–"

"I know. Almost reminds me of–" He stiffens, then shakes his head. "Nah, can't possibly be."

Rey looks at him questioningly, but he just shakes his head again. They can hear the creek rushing beneath them as they glide over the ice still crusting the surface, like an ominous harbinger of Spring.

The funeral is held on a Saturday. Rey walks solemnly beside Ben in her dark gray dress, following the Damerons and the other mourners and the wagon carrying Zorii's coffin. Rose and Mrs. Dameron are in black crepe, heavily veiled; Shara is in white. 

Zorii's headstone is a sturdy white marble, decorated at the top with a dove. The epitaph is set in delicate script:

_Our darling one has gone before,  
To greet us on the golden shore._

Rey feels a lump rise in her throat as they gather around the open grave. Two men prepare to lower Zorii's coffin; Mrs. Dameron reaches out just as they allow some slack on the ropes, caressing the wood, touching it one last time. 

Pastor Dameron is overcome, and so Mr. Snap leads them in the Psalm:

_God is our refuge and strength,  
an ever-present help in trouble.  
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way  
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,  
though its waters roar and foam  
and the mountains quake with their surging.  
_

Rey's voice comes out wavering; it breaks on the words.

_There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,  
the holy place where the Most High dwells  
God is within her, she will not fall;  
God will help her at break of day.  
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;  
He lifts his voice, the earth melts.  
_

Ben tugs her into his side and she buries her face in his starched suit jacket, uncaring who sees. 

_The Lord Almighty is with us;  
The God of Jacob is our fortress._

The air is still and quiet for a long moment, before it is broken by scattered birdsong.

One by one, they all take a handful of earth and let it fall downward into the grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Victorian mourning rituals including depiction of a corpse. Unprotected sex with a minor. Racialized sexual overtures from Hux (toward Rose).**
> 
> The Victorians were very serious about mourning, and had a lot of rituals that were supposed to be followed in order to correctly honor the dead. I wasn't sure if Rose came off as shallow for worrying about clothing immediately after her sister died, but mourning clothing _was_ a really central part of the process, and women in particular were supposed to be the outward face of grief for the family, so their physical embodiment of mourning was especially scrutinized. There were rules about how long you should be in full or half mourning depending on your relation to the deceased; the Damerons will be in full mourning for three months, which seems a little short but is theoretically [correct](https://tinyurl.com/y3ycuvq9) for a five-year-old child and also fits my narrative purposes. 
> 
> If you want to learn more, Caitlin Doughty has two excellent videos where she recreates a Victorian [funeral](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OlF-EtoGBo%22) and [post-mortem photoshoot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7SPbfK0EOg). I love Caitlin Doughty with all my heart, and she has a bunch of videos (and three books!) about contemporary death care and the history and cultural contexts of different funeral practices. General content warning for death for her channel; it's literally called "Ask a Mortician." 
> 
> Incorporating hair into [jewelry](https://tinyurl.com/y2raguz9) was a big fashion at the time; often it was simply locks of hair under glass, but people also wove hair into very intricate designs, and since Rose is quite the fiber artist I thought she'd be into this. [This](https://omeka.library.unt.edu/s/stjohns/page/awilliamson) was the inspiration for Zorii's gravestone.
> 
> Victorian women _did_ breastfeed in public and in fact it was a fad for a while to be [photographed](https://tinyurl.com/yxk3xwaf) while breastfeeding.
> 
> The 1880's were the pinnacle of [curly bangs](https://tinyurl.com/y566rssc) and you'd better believe Rey and Rose had a bang cutting sesh while they waited out the doldrums of winter. Mr. Syndulla's whiskers can be found [here](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DJzvunyh6_U/W2u4TxMvLMI/AAAAAAADQJ0/325y3xOpIzcgM_2NS6KeS6iFBiu6I_n3gCLcBGAs/s1600/victorian-mustache-men.jpg) (middle panel).
> 
> My readers: No more sheath! 😡  
> Rey: No more sheath! 😡  
> Before y'all get too excited, please keep in mind that the pull-out method is more than 75% [effective](https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/birth-control/withdrawal-pull-out-method/how-effective-is-withdrawal-method-pulling-out), so that pregnancy tag might take some tiiiiime. 😏 Please use a better method of birth control irl.
> 
> Very sorry to release such a sad chapter the day after Chadwick Boseman passed. Please take care of yourselves and spread love however you can ❤️
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I fully managed to tag everything about this chapter, so if you're concerned about any of the latest three tags maybe go read the content warnings in the end notes. 

The thaw brings trains several times a week but it also brings mud, and a creek so swollen that fording it becomes a twice-daily hazard. The sleigh is retired for the season and the wagon rolled out, but it's heavy and not suited to the soft ground. Rey is late to school when it sinks in half-way up the wheels out on the prairie, and they have to dig it out. She arrives at nearly lunchtime, her hem six inches deep in mud.

Ben considers the wagon the next morning, and the horses, and hoists Rey onto Star so she's seated side-saddle in front of him. It's an uncomfortable experience, wedged in against his saddle horn and so precariously seated that the only thing keeping her on the horse is Ben's grip around her waist. Ben mutters to himself after he helps her off at the schoolhouse, and when he returns in the afternoon he's leading Killer behind him too, a new saddle seated on his back.

"They didn't carry any ladies' side-saddles," he says apologetically, "so you'll have to be a bit… uncouth."

Rey can't help the grin that dashes across her face at the word, her eyes flashing up to catch his. 

He helps her up, tucking her feet into the stirrups, and shows her the reins. They walk slowly out of town.

"Prairie's not a bad place to learn to ride," he says. "No major obstacles. But it's deceptive– gopher holes n' soft ground. Gotta keep your wits."

They pass a rather wonderful afternoon, dawdling on the way back so Rey can practice turning, and, after Ben gives her a lot of nervous instruction, a bit of galloping.

She loves it. It feels like being free, the wind in her hair and the ground moving so quickly beneath her feet. Killer is a gentle horse, despite his name, and he responds easily to her suggestions. Ben relaxes a bit after a while and they race each other along the track home before stopping near the creek, Rey breathless with laughter. He grins at her, leaning over to capture her lips.

It's just as well that Rey learns to ride, for planting season is upon them, and Ben finds it more and more difficult to accompany her to and from school. She feels guilty leaving him, with only one horse and all the plowing and seeding, but he waves her off and when she returns one day there's a new team of mules in the barn.

"Shoulda bought 'em a year ago, 'course then we woulda had to feed 'em this winter. But it's time to make this a real farm. Get started on that orchard, and a house…"

Rey declares them the prettiest mules she's ever seen, and names them Polixenes and Florizel; Ben shakes his head at her as he walks out of the barn.

On the weekend Rey helps him transplant the peach tree saplings he procured from old lady Maz. She spends hours in the kitchen garden after school each day, and is proud of the little seedlings that sprout from the dirt. When the wheat and the potatoes are planted, Ben starts pacing out a large square to one side of the yard and one Sunday a handful of men come back with them after church service to help dig a foundation.

Rey's studies are progressing nicely, and she's more and more confident that the entrance exam will go well. She feels bad for continuing to take up Mr. Bridger's time in the mornings, but he's rather insistent, and mostly they talk about different college classes they'd like to take, and how life in Lincoln might be.

"There's a women's boarding house," he assures her one morning. "Not too expensive, and very respectable. They'll even provide a chaperone if, you know, you have a beau or anything…"

He trails off, his ears red.

Rey's distracted by the thought of leaving Red Cloud, of living somewhere else, possibly for a long time. Is she to leave Ben, and the orchard, and the new house? Live on her own again, after all this time searching for a family? 

She's a bit glum while she works the final exercises Mr. Bridger sets for her before the school day starts, and barely notices when he pats her on the back, rubbing her shoulders a bit more familiarly than perhaps he ought.

Rose cuts an impressive figure in the school room, still dressed in her mourning garb. The fabric smells strongly of the chemicals used to dye it, and raises small red bumps on Rose's arms. It is as fashionable as Rey has seen any woman wear in Red Cloud, with a slim skirt and Pannier drapes at the hips. Rose, of course, had sewed it herself, aided by fashion plates from Paris in the ladies' magazines that had come in with the trains.

"I only wish I had a sewing machine," she whispers to Rey during their lessons. "It would be so much faster than doing everything by hand."

Mr. Bridger looks up at their whispers, but only catches Rey's eye with a half smile on his face and turns back to the second grade class at the blackboard. 

"He's sweet on you," Rose tells her later, during lunch. Rey coughs a bit on her cornish pasty in response, but Rose plows on, giving her a coy look. "So many hours spent alone in the school room, must be  _ so _ romantic…"

Rey coughs some more. "I– I don't see him like– I'm just– It's not  _ romantic _ –"

Rose smiles in an annoyingly smug way. "Methinks thou doth protest too much."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Rey automatically corrects her. Rose rolls her eyes. "And I'm  _ not _ , he's only helping me because–"

"Would he be so bad, though?" Rose asks her. "For a beau? You'll both be going off to Lincoln, taking loads of boring classes, you'll need  _ something _ to keep you entertained…"

Rey just shakes her head.

She supposes from Rose's perspective Mr. Bridger  _ wouldn't _ be so bad. He's not ugly, really, just a bit gangly, boyish. In another life, perhaps, it would have made sense, if she'd gone to live with the Damerons instead, maybe… but, even then, Rey can't imagine loving anyone but Ben…

Rose drags Rey and Shara along to the General Store after school, to ogle the new shipments of fabric that came on the last train. Rose sighs as she drags her fingertips over the tight weaves. 

"It's  _ so _ pretty," she says longingly. "I've been remaking my dresses to fit the current styles, but it's hard without additional fabric, you know?"

Rey does not, in fact, know, but she nods along anyway. "There's still some old dresses Ben has in his chest of drawers. I think he'd let me re-make them, and I'll need a traveling suit for when I go to Lincoln…"

"Oh really, Rey?" Rose's face lights up. "I'll make you the perfect suit, don't worry. You'll be the smartest looking girl taking that test. No– in all of Lincoln!"

Ben helps her look through his mother's dresses that night and they pick out a few for approval by Rose's more discerning eye.

"I remember her wearing this one," he says, pulling a white skirt and jacket with black braided trim out of the drawer. "We went to the seaside. She had a matching parasol."

"I don't have to take that one," Rey says hurriedly.

"No, you should," Ben says, holding it up to her frame. "It's a good traveling fabric, light and sturdy. And it'll suit you."

Rey wraps the dresses carefully in paper and packs them into two saddle bags, so that she might take them to school with her in the morning; the next day is Friday and Rose has invited her over after they let out for the day so they might examine the dresses and determine possible suit styles.

Rey looks at the packed bags for a long moment. "Ben," Rey starts.

"Hmm?" He's whittling slender poles for the new house, though Rey can't quite envision where they'll go. 

"What–" She pauses.  _ What will we do in the fall, when I'm gone to Lincoln? How will you manage here, by yourself? How will  _ I  _ manage, without you? _

He looks up at her, eyebrows raised in question.

"What do you think about giving Rose a dress, too? Only she'll do all the work on my suit, and I know she'd love the new fabric…"

"'Course you should," he says, returning to his whittling. 

Rey bites her lip a bit and turns to clear the dishes from supper.

She arrives at school before Mr. Bridger the next day, and sits with Killer in the yard, stroking his face and feeding him oats from her hand. At around quarter past the hour Mr. Bridger hurries into the yard, unlatching the school door. She follows in after him; he seems a bit flustered.

"Oh! Rey, there you are." He brushes his hair out of his face and toys with the thin mustache above his lip. Rey smiles at him, getting her books out of her bag. He nervously toys with something behind his desk before thrusting a little knot of wildflowers at her. "I– ah, anyway, these are for you. I'll lose my nerve if I don't do it now. I mean, I'll do it properly of course, and ask– I mean, I know you have an–  _ unusual _ – situation, but surely Mr. Solo is the correct person to– I'll pay a call to you, at your homestead, even leave my greeting card! Here it is, I got them printed fresh, Mr. Dume's expanding, you see, photography  _ and _ local printing needs, it's right clever of him, in my opinion. But anyway, there you go." 

Rey blinks at him, accepting the flowers and card he presses into her hand. 

"Mr. Bridger, I'm not sure I understand–"

"Call me Ezra," he says, taking a breath. "I know, I'm botching this entirely. What I mean to say is, I'd like to court you, Rey."

Rey stares at him, mind racing. Drat, she should've listened to Rose earlier, even if  _ she _ hadn't seen it as romantic, clearly  _ he _ had.

"Mr. Bridger–"

"Ezra."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. I– I'm not looking for a beau, you see, I'm just trying to focus on the exam–"

"You'll do just fine on that exam, Rey," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "We can wait until you've taken it, though, if that's what you wish. We'll still have summer, and in the fall– oh! There's so much to do in Lincoln! They have a soda fountain, and a promenade. Interesting lectures, you'll see–"

"Mr. Bridger, I'm sorry, but I have to say no. I'm just not–"

"I know Mr. Solo is strict about your activities, but I'm sure he can be reasoned with. Pastor Dameron would vouch for me, and I know he has influence with–"

"Mr. Solo has nothing to do with this!" Rey says hotly, knowing as she says it that she's telling perhaps the biggest fib of her life. "I simply don't wish to be courted by you!"

Mr. Bridger stares at her for a long moment, before he makes an angry noise in his throat and pulls out his chair, the legs screeching against the floor, to throw himself into a sitting position. 

"Well you might have indicated as such a bit earlier," he says, eyes flashing. He ruffles his papers from his bag and pulls out his pen and ink. "Leading me on. And you know how many hours I've spent helping you?"

"I– what? Is that the only reason you–?"

"Well I certainly won't be coming in this early any longer," he says coldly. "I could have been doing far more important things, Rey." He turns to his papers, dipping his pen in the ink.

Rey swallows, a lump forming in her throat. She collects her books and her bag and makes her way to her seat in the back of the room quietly. She keeps her head down, pretending to read a textbook until the rest of the students file in. 

Is this what Mr. Bridger has thought of her the whole time? She believed him when he told her she was clever, that she would do well on the exam, but what if that had all been a lie? What if everything he'd ever said to her was just to encourage her interest in him?

Rey feels guilty, too.  _ Had _ she led him on? She hadn't tried to, but she had at least been peripherally aware of his interest, and done nothing to discourage it. A little temptress, a tease.  _ Solo's little slut _ , Hux's words whisper, and she shakes her head as if to clear away an irksome fly.

Rose only seems to notice how quiet Rey is on their way back to the Damerons' homestead. Rey leads Killer by the reins as they walk through town and down the track of wagon wheels through the new, green prairie grass. Shara skips ahead, pausing to collect wildflowers along the way. Rey wonders if Mr. Bridger did the same thing that morning, if that was why he was late to the schoolhouse.

"Got the morbs, Rey?" Along with fashionable clothing inspiration, Rose had also picked up a few phrases from the ladies' magazines. 

"I just…" Rey glances at Shara. "Mr. Bridger asked to court me."

"What! What did you say?"

"I said no!" 

" _ Rey _ ," Rose fixes her with a reproachful look. "Why ever not?"

"I– he's– _because_." For a wild moment Rey considers telling her about Ben. But that was surely insanity. How would Rose even react to such news? _How will she react_ , Rey wonders. For she would have to be told eventually, right?

They walk up the lane to the homestead and Rose is soon distracted by the bundles Rey pulls from the saddle bags. Shara and Mrs. Dameron crowd around them in the kitchen, oohing and aahing at the pretty fabrics and trims. Rey is quick to tell Rose that Ben had said one of the dresses ought to be hers, and Rose is lost in indecisiveness, torn between a pale pink organza and a striped, blue taffeta. Rey tells her to keep them both to decide; she'd likely need a few days to complete the traveling suit anyway.

They all rifle through the latest ladies' magazines, and several times Rose has to scold Rey for stopping to read the stories printed in the pages, instead of looking at the fashion plates as she's supposed to be. In the end, Rey decides on a smart looking suit that seems rather like the original garment in composition, only modified in proportions and neckline. Rose starts ripping out seams.

Ben rides up in the early evening on Star. He nods along solemnly while Rey and Rose explain the suit design and Rose thanks him profusely for the gifted dress. It's the most Rey has ever heard Rose talk to Ben, and it gives her a bit of hope.

"Finn's off again, then?" he asks Mrs. Dameron over a supper of new greens, ham, and fried potatoes, plus a treat of tinned sardines.

Mrs. Dameron nods. "Rounding up the heads of cattle to the northwest. Poe's gone along to testify to the other cowboys, but he'll be back in a week."

"Can't imagine a lotta the cattle made it through that winter," Ben observes.

"Suppose we'll see," Mrs. Dameron replies. "Can't say I'd be too sad to see him give it all up, put some real roots down amongst respectable society."

"We're real roots, Ma," Rose pipes up. 

"I know we are, Rosie, but wouldn't you rather see him stay all the time?" 

"Yes," Rose's lips pull into a frown. "I hate it when he's gone." 

Rey and Ben ride off in the near-dark. It's still chilly and Rey shivers a bit in her saddle.

"How was school?" Ben asks. His face is a black silhouette against the dark blue-green of the sky.

"It was–" Rey pauses, not sure how to tell him about Mr. Bridger's overture, "–fine."

They go to bed and Ben falls asleep right away. He's been exhausted from his work on the house, on top of all the work to be done around a farm in spring. Rey, on the other hand, stares at the tar paper ceiling for what must be hours, mind racing.

On Sunday, Rey's torn between continuing to ride in early to school and telling Ben about the precipitating event that made it no longer necessary. In the end she decides a small fib won't hurt, and tells him that Mr. Bridger had decided she was ready for the exam and didn't need any additional morning lessons. This at least frees her to do more chores in the mornings, feeding the chickens and staking the cows, making breakfast and a cold lunch for herself and Ben. 

She had written to the college in Lincoln to inquire about sitting the test, and gets a response on Tuesday for a date three weeks hence. They make no mention of the 8th grade final examination certificate, but Rey spins into more anxiety. Would Mr. Bridger grade her fairly, after everything? 

He's cold to her in class over the next week, and even though Rey makes a point of doing her lessons diligently and hardly speaks to Rose at all, he often calls her out with a grating  _ "Miss Sands" _ in front of everyone, so her face burns and she mumbles her lessons, though she knows them by heart.

Thursday afternoon, having completed her composition and geography lessons, Rey turns to her Latin notes. Despite his exhaustion, Ben had written out different phrases for her to copy and learn. They're all bloodthirsty and exciting, things like  _ Si gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc _ and  _ Aut viam inveniam aut faciam _ . Rey is just writing out  _ Lupus non timet canem latrantem _ when she looks up to see Mr. Bridger hovering next to her, reading her notebook over her shoulder.

"That's not your lesson, Miss Sands," he says loudly. She blushes and fumbles with her notebook to show him her completed lessons, but he just shakes his head. "Bend over your desk."

"Wh– what?" Mr. Bridger occasionally whacks the hands or thighs of the younger students who are rowdy in class, but he usually exhibits restraint, choosing to reprimand with stern words instead of strikes of the ruler. But he walks down the aisle and pulls this from his desk now.

"You heard me. Bend over your desk."

Rey catches Rose's expression as she slowly stands from her seat; it's wide-eyed and disbelieving. Rey is similarly in a state of shock; she leans forward to rest her forearms on her desk.

The first strike of the ruler lands on her behind. Rey is silent. She's been hit far harder than this in the past, and she has two layers of skirts on, along with her combinations. She can feel the eyes of the others on her, though, the star student, reduced to being paddled in class; the humiliation is worse than anything.

The second strike hits a bit harder, and Rey wonders if Mr. Bridger wants a reaction from her, if that's the point of all this. She's hurt him and so he wishes to hurt her. The third strike comes quickly in the same spot.

The fourth and fifth strikes are a bit lower, on her upper thighs, almost like he's aiming for her cunt. Rey stares stonily ahead, only jumping when she feels his hand against her skirt, like he's trying to soothe the sting. He's breathing hard.

"I– I hope you've learned your lesson, Miss Sands." He removes his hand and goes back to the front. Rey sits back in her seat, wincing a bit at her sore skin pressing into the hard wood of the desk. She gazes at Mr. Bridger's back and when he looks up at her she holds his eye, a hardened expression on her face. He looks a bit shaken, like he too can't quite believe what he's just done, and breaks their eye contact first, looking down to shuffle papers on his desk. 

Rey defiantly opens her composition book to her Latin notes, and finishes copying the last phrase.

_ Lupus non timet canem latrantem. _

She doesn't tell Ben.  _ There's nothing good that could come of it _ , she reasons,  _ he doesn't need to know. _ They work in the garden until sunset, and then Ben whittles some more while Rey does some cleaning around the shanty, and both are so exhausted by bedtime that Rey only has to hide her backside while dressing and then they fall straight to sleep. 

Ben's up to do the milking before she wakes. Rey yawns, thinking about what to make for breakfast while she pulls her nightgown over her head. The shanty door swings open and Ben's back with a jug of milk; the spring breeze washes around her nether regions and she briefly enjoys it before her eyes widen and she jumps around to hide her derriere from his sight. 

"Where did you get  _ those _ ?"

"What?" Rey decides in the moment to go for bewildered surprise, twisting as if to look at her own backside. " _ Oh _ . Huh, I must've fallen."

"Rey." Ben's expression is skeptical. "You have three–  _ four _ – bruises in the shape of– well, I daresay that looks a hell of a lot like a ruler. Did you get switched at school?"

"I– well–" she can't think how to keep up the deception, "yes, I did."

" _Ezra_ _Bridger_ did this to you? That sniveling little– I thought he was helpin' you, with studying and whatnot?"

"He  _ was _ ," Rey says miserably. "But– Ben, he asked to court me and I turned him down, and now–"

" _ That's _ why he beat you?" Ben stands stock still, as if struck with outrage, before he grabs his hat and his deerskin jacket and shoulders through the shanty door. 

"Ben!" Rey makes to hurry after him before remembering that she's naked; she dresses as fast as she can but by the time she makes it outside he's already across the creek on Star.

"Goddamn," she mutters to herself, saddling Killer and swinging herself up on his back. She urges him into a gallop, but there's no way they'll catch Ben; he's had too much of a head start. 

She's not sure what he'll do when he finds Mr. Bridger; dreadful images whirl in her head of Ben punching him bloody, or perhaps there'd be a gun drawn, and then there'd be a shootout, and Ben would be an outlaw again, and they'd have to run from the sheriff with their stolen treasure–

Perhaps she's read too many of the lurid tales printed in the ladies' mags.

There aren't any horses tied up at the schoolhouse, and really it's too early for Mr. Bridger to be there yet anyway. Where did Ben go? Rey pulls Killer around to trot down Main Street, until a spark of memory reminds her of Mr. Dume's barn, attached to his photography studio– and now apparently his printing shop– and presumably his home. 

She rides up Third Avenue to find Ben in front of their door, gesticulating wildly and not bothering to keep his voice down, despite the earliness of the hour.

"–think your guardian  _ oughta _ hear of this,  _ actually _ . How you treat a young lady after she rejects you says a great  _ deal _ about your character, I  _ imagine– _ "

Rey ties Killer up to the hitching post across the street and hurries toward them. Mr. Bridger is standing just inside the doorway, looking deeply uncomfortable, and Mr. Dume stands behind him, his arms crossed, looking stern. 

"–and don't think I won't be writin' to the superintendent about your conduct toward students. I  _ built _ that school, son–"

"Ben!" She catches hold of his forearm and tries to drag him away. Mr. Bridger avoids her gaze until Mr. Dume nudges him.

"I think you owe Miss Sands here an apology."

Mr. Bridger glances up at her, his face burning red. "I– I apologize, Miss Sands."

"You are forgiven, Mr. Bridger," she replies curtly. "Ben,  _ c'mon _ ." She succeeds in pulling him away from the house, though he glowers back at them until the door clicks shut.

Star is wandering freely a little ways up the street–  _ he didn't even hitch him _ – but Rey retrieves him and they both swing up onto their respective horses. Ben is working his jaw furiously, but largely calms down by the time they get halfway home.

"Do you  _ want _ to go back to school?" he asks her stiffly. 

"No, I don't suppose so," she says. "I'm only worried about the 8th grade certificate; Mr. Bridger's supposed to administer that exam, and I don't know how he'll grade it now that– well, that all of this has happened."

"That's a state test, ain't it?" Ben furrows his brow. "Seems you could take it in Lincoln, when you go to take the college exam. Oughta be some school master willing to add an extra student. I can inquire when I write the superintendent."

"You're really going to do that?"

"Of course!" He looks affronted. "He can't get away with this."

"All teachers punish their students," she says flatly. "That's how the world works. Nuns punish orphans. Teachers punish students. Fathers punish daughters."

"I haven't punished you," he says.

"No," she says carefully. "You haven't."

He studies her from his saddle. They're at a slow trot, the sun still low so the sky is a riot of pink and orange above the green grass.

"Do you want–?"

Rey thinks of the times he's slapped a wide hand across her buttocks; she feels an uncomfortable tightness in her cunt, and tries to grind subtly into the leather horn of her saddle.

"You ought to do as you see fit, Papa," she says simply, and nudges Killer forward into a canter.

Ben does indeed write to the superintendent, and while Rey doesn't see the final text Ben angrily mutters enough of it while writing that she gets the general gist. He receives an answer after about a week; a schoolmarm in Lincoln is willing to let Rey sit the exam while she's in town. After a few conversations after church on Sunday he also secures Mrs. Syndulla, who means to visit her cousin in the city, as a chaperone for her trip. Rose finishes the traveling suit, and forces Rey to wear it to church so all can admire the fine handiwork. It is handsome indeed, and makes Rey feel very elegant and grown up. 

And just like that, everything is in order and Rey is left only to think about the exams. 

A week out she wakes from a terrible dream in which all the questions are about the stars and the time it would take to zip between them in little metal ships that hover suspended in space. She answers wrong, and then Ben is there, with a giant, flaming sword and–

He rolls over to find her sweating and wide-eyed.

"What if I forget everything?"

"Mm, you won't," he mumbles, pinning her under his arm and kissing her head. "You're so clever, Rey. My pretty, clever girl."

But her anxiety spikes higher and higher. She neglects her chores to read through her notes again and again, re-working all the mathematics problems and drawing maps of Europe in flour on the table. Ben doesn't say anything, but Rey feels additionally guilty when she sees him tidy up the shanty in addition to all his work on the house.

A few days before she's set to leave the dishes have piled up dreadfully. Ben glances at them when he comes into the shanty in the afternoon. Rey is in the rocking chair, re-reading her history book for what feels like must be the hundredth time.

"Rey," he says quietly.

"Hmm?" She turns another page in her book.

"Rey, put the book down." She looks up at him, and then he's pulling it out of her hands, placing it on a high shelf.

"Ben–!"

"No, I've just about had enough. You'll wash these dishes. Now, Rey."

She frowns at him, but sets to filling the tub and scrubbing each dish clean with soap and a rag. It's surprisingly refreshing, like she can breathe again after hours underwater. 

He watches her carefully, and when she's done he tells her to sweep the floor and remake the bed. 

"Can I have my book back, now?" she asks him when she's finished. He looks up from his whittling in the corner.

"Hmm, no, I don't think so," he says, brushing wood shavings off his thighs. She bites her lip to keep from telling him she just  _ swept _ that floor. "Come lay over Papa's lap, sweetheart."

_ "What?" _

"You heard me." His voice has a dangerous edge to it.

She glares at him but makes her way to the rocking chair. Yes, she told him he might punish her, but  _ really _ this isn't the  _ time– _

He catches hold of her and she yelps when she's suddenly flipped over his lap. He pushes her skirts up so they hang over her head, and then he's smoothing his hand through the gash in her combinations, parting it so her whole bottom is on display. 

"Those bruises healed up fine," he says, stroking the skin of her buttocks. "Think you need a reminder, sweetheart, 'bout bein' a good daughter, a good girl for Papa. Don't you think?"

"Just get on with it," Rey grits out. Ben's hand comes down without warning in a loud  _ smack _ and Rey yelps.

"That one's for bein' mouthy," he tells her, smoothing away the sting. "But I think you'll need a few more, for– for leavin' the dishes and such. Go on and say you'll be a good girl from now on."

"Fine," Rey says through her teeth. "I'll be a– ahhh!" His hand comes down again and Rey jerks in his lap. She can feel his manhood stiffening against her belly. "I'll be a good gir–  _ hngh _ ." He smacks her other ass cheek, soothing it after with his palm. Her bottom feels warm and tingly. She wriggles in his lap, rubbing against him.

"Another one," Ben says quietly, "for bein' such a little tease." He smacks her so it catches between her cheeks and Rey gasps. "Awful wet down here, sweetheart. This is supposed to be a punishment." He smacks her again, three times in quick succession, his palm over the globes of her behind and his fingers catching her between her legs. Rey's panting now.

_ "Papa," _ she whines, and then just as suddenly as he pulled her over her lap he rights her so she wobbles on her feet in front of him. His hands go to the front of her dress, undoing buttons, and then he's pulling it off her, along with her petticoat; she'd neglected to put on her corset that morning. 

He pulls her into his lap, gathering her wrists in one hand, and forces her legs wide, combinations fully gaping, holding her open with his knees.

"Think I oughta punish that little cunt, too," he growls in her ear. His open palm smacks against her spread lips and Rey shrieks. She can feel her clitoris throb, and as soon as the sting fades she wants it again. Ben obliges, raining blows against her center so she's writhing in his grip, her cries growing louder with every strike. With Mr. Bridger she'd kept silent, but she wants Ben to hear what he's doing to her, how deeply she is affected by him.

"I think–" Ben's breathing hard too now. "I think Papa's cock might be a good punishment, hmm, sweetheart?" 

She struggles against him, pulling at the hand restraining her wrists, like nothing could be worse. Ben just barks a laugh and holds her down, fumbling with his pants to release his manhood. He pulls her onto it roughly and Rey gives a loud whimper as it splits her heated flesh.

"Be a good girl, sweetheart," he croons in her ear. "Be a good girl and take Papa's cock."

He smacks at her clitoris again, a bit more gently this time, and thrusts up hard into her heat. Something seems to occur to him, and he yanks open the top buttons of her combinations, baring her breasts, and smacks a rather wet hand over one nipple, and then the other.

"Gotta punish your tits," he mumbles, doing it again. Rey is fully sobbing now, and she feels her crisis approaching, her legs seizing more with each thrust he gives her, each strike of his hand, and just when she's about to crest–

Ben lifts her off his lap and deposits her into a heap on the floor. Rey looks up at him, tearstained and bereft, ready to beg him to put her back on his cock.

"Don't think it'd be an effective punishment if you got to your climax, would it, sweetheart?" He looks down at her, widening his stance. "Best clean up Papa's cock."

She lets out another small sob, crawling toward him to start licking his shaft. He's positively soaked in her juices and she spends a lot of time at the base, sucking away the tangy taste.

"Get the head, now," he says softly, cupping her skull in his hand. She purses her lips and pulls him into her mouth. He thrusts up and holds her to him so his cock head rests just at the back of her tongue, her throat closing desperately around him. He groans, thrusting again, and again, and when she chokes on his thick shaft he releases his spend down her throat.

Ben pets her hair while she rests her head on his thigh, trying to catch her breath.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks her, and she nods. It felt good, to lose a bit of control, to let herself cry. She feels wrung out, limp instead of anxious.

"Yes, Papa," she says, her voice hoarse.

"Well, good, 'cause I ain't done with you." He lifts her to her feet, and she's startled. What else could he possibly do to her?

He settles himself back on the bed, pulling her up his body until she's nearly straddling his face.

"I don't got a lotta experience as a father," he tells her, nuzzling her thighs. "But personally speaking, I think reward's gotta be just as important as punishment."

He seals his mouth over her cunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Mr. Bridger asks to court Rey and she rejects him; he later paddles her (with a ruler) in front of the class. Ben goes full PTA mom. Rey indicates she might like being punished, and later they engage in explicitly pseudoincest roleplay with lots of spanking (ass, pussy, tits), orgasm denial, and also aftercare. Rey is a horse girl now.**
> 
> Is the aftercare for orgasm denial an orgasm? Ben thinks so.
> 
> First, some housekeeping. I had a minor crisis with my Twitter account so it's slightly different now, you can find me at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23) and you can read more about my stupidity. I'll also be posting way too many pics of my new kittens!
> 
> Thank you so much to [@Kupo_solidago](https://twitter.com/Kupo_solidago) for this wonderful fanart of an older [Rey](https://twitter.com/Kupo_solidago/status/1301950755704799232?s=20) waiting for her carrot. Also appreciated was the extensive research she put into Victorian underthings and the many wonderful photos she found of irl kinky Victorians getting [spanked](https://twitter.com/Kupo_solidago/status/1301952735043112962?s=20).
> 
> Riding sidesaddle was the norm for women at this time, but it wasn't [universal](https://susannaforrest.wordpress.com/2012/06/15/a-not-so-short-history-of-women-riding-astride/). Rey and Ben's new mules are named after characters in _A Winter's Tale_ , which loosely [correspond](https://americanshakespearecenter.com/2011/05/in-the-force-of-his-will-shakespeare-and-star-wars/) to R2-D2 and C-3PO's roles in the narrative structure of _A New Hope_.
> 
> We're in the later [Natural Form Era](https://trulyvictorian.info/index.php/extras/timeline-of-victorian-clothing/natural-form-1877-1882/) for women's dress in 1881, which is so named because it better approximates women's actual figures, in contrast to the bustle eras on either end. Leia's white seaside dress is [here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/394768723578177035/), and both the pink organza and blue taffeta are [here](https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/1868-2/). I did a lot of googling of "Civil War Dresses" for this, and often came across Little Women (2019) costumes, so if you're gonna do that, please watch this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sBqqERMblo) about why those costumes were terrible and did not deserve an Oscar.
> 
> Latin [translations](https://bestlifeonline.com/latin-phrases/):  
>  _Si gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc_ \- We gladly feast on those who would subdue us  
>  _Aut viam inveniam aut faciam_ \- I will either find a way or make one  
>  _Lupus non timet canem latrantem_ \- A wolf is not afraid of a barking dog
> 
> Hope everyone's doing ok, love you all!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an attempted sexual assault against a main character. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

The train ride to Lincoln is only a half-day's journey. Rey sits as primly as she can in the train car, her traveling suit freshly pressed and starched. It's a fine car, richly upholstered, the velvet on the seats still new and unfaded. Mrs. Syndulla sits across from her, knitting a complicated lace piece with needles as thin as those Rey had used to embroider her handkerchiefs. Rey tries to read to occupy the time, but she quickly becomes motion-sick from the swaying of the train and desists, opting instead to gaze out the window at the prairie passing by. 

How different this journey is than the one that brought her to Red Cloud, in a car with bare wooden seats and the piercing wails of the younger children punctuating every mile, the older boys roughhousing in the aisles and over the backs of seats. How hungry she'd been all the time, so constant it was hardly worth thinking about. And, of course, how she felt growing despair as child after child left the train for the little towns dotting the prairie and she alone remained. 

_You looked so lost_ , Ben had told her once, _but there was something defiant about you still, I could see it in your eyes. A little fighter._

Perhaps this was what the other families had seen in her too, what kept them from offering her a place in their homes. 

How lucky for Rey they hadn't.

They roll into Lincoln in the early afternoon, belching steam. Mrs. Syndulla's cousin is waiting for them on the platform, waving her handkerchief frantically.

"Hera!" 

Mrs. Syndulla waves back, somewhat more stiffly. Rey hoists her new carpet bag and follows her out onto the platform.

Mrs. Syndulla's cousin beams at them, holding her hand out to Rey. "You must be Reyna. I'm Boshti."

Rey smiles shyly back at her, taking her hand. She's a pretty woman, younger than Mrs. Syndulla, though Rey reflects that Mrs. Syndulla can't be _so_ old. 

"Let's get you two settled then, and I'll show you around a bit!" She handily lifts the carpet bag out of Rey's hands and deposits it in the back of a smart little buggy, stepping up to seat herself behind the reins. "Lovely spring evening, what a wonderful week for you to come and see Lincoln! Of course, poor Miss Reyna will be chained to her desk, taking those dreadful tests! But no matter, we'll make it a pleasant visit, just you wait…"

They drive down a wide avenue away from the train depot; Boshti points out different landmarks along their route. It's certainly smaller than New York, but Rey can understand why Mr. Bridger is so taken with the city; it's clearly been designed with growth in mind, with its carefully laid streets and stout, brick buildings. Red Cloud looks ready to be swallowed up by the prairie in comparison. 

"How's dear old Cham?" Boshti asks Mrs. Syndulla.

"As well as can be expected," she replies. "He's getting up in the years, and this winter was a bit hard on him."

"Goodness gracious, wasn't it hard on us all!" Boshti exclaims. "Well I hope the old bat pulls through, he was always so kind to me. And how is our dear cousin?" She has a sly look to her as she says it.

"My husband is well," Mrs. Syndulla says stiffly; she's clearly unwilling to humor Boshti's teasing on the matter. 

Boshti shoots Rey a conspiratorial smirk, and Rey returns a bewildered smile. Mrs. Syndulla is a stern woman, not unkind but certainly not someone Rey would like to cross. Seeing her own kin tease her is quite something; she'll have to remember to tell Rose.

They pull up to a large, red brick building; Boshti drives the buggy into a small barn to the side and unbridles her horse, leading it to a stable.

"I run a boarding house," Boshti explains to Rey, hoisting her bag out of the carriage and heaving it up the steps to the side entrance, her knees lifting her skirts somewhat scandalously high. Rey hurries along behind her and Mrs. Syndulla brings up the rear. "Students, mostly, and the odd businessman, got a few new girls…"

A colored man opens the door, greeting them with a smile.

"Hello, Hado," Boshti grins softly at him. "This is my cousin, Hera, and this is Reyna."

"Nice to meet you, Miss," he says in a deep voice, extending his hand for Rey to shake.

She and Mrs. Syndulla are in separate rooms, which surprises Rey somewhat; she can't remember ever having a bed to herself, let alone an entire room. It's cramped and pretty, little lace doilies and knickknacks on the little wooden side tables, and gas lamps with glass shades. The single bed has a wrought-iron frame. It's spread with a beautiful quilt and topped with pillows in pillow cases trimmed in lace. 

It's a real bed in a real room in a real house and Rey almost aches for the want of it. _Soon_ , she thinks to herself. The foundation is dug for the new house, and the framing for the first floor was up by the time she left on the train, waving at Ben through the window while he tipped his hat solemnly back at her. 

She resecures her hair in its coiled updo, carefully rearranging the curls at her forehead, and mops her face and neck with the cool water in the china pitcher. She examines herself in the long mirror in the corner next to the bed; the traveling suit has indeed held up to the ride on the train. Rey smooths nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt and exits the little room, shutting the door behind her.

Boshti– Rey still doesn't know her last name– shows them around the downtown area of Lincoln by foot. They pass a bank, a huge, squat structure built of huge squares of marble, and Rey is impressed in spite of herself. They pick up all manner of foodstuffs at an open-air market, Boshti chatting with the various merchants.

"The University is that direction, about a half-mile," she tells Rey, pointing while hoisting her basket of vegetables on her hip. "I expect you'll get to poke around a bit when you go tomorrow."

Rey nods at her, trying to smile pleasantly.

"Is it– do you think it's nice?"

"The University?" Boshti cocks her head, as if considering. "It's alright, I suppose. Keeps me in business, with all the students. Makes for a lively city, for certain. Lincoln's not just a little town on the plains, no sir…"

They set to making supper for the boarders when they return. Boshti tries to shout them down, but Mrs. Syndulla gets a rather fierce expression on her face and Rey isn't surprised when Boshti relents. Rey finds herself next to Hado; he scrubs potatoes with a rough brush while she peels them as quick as she can.

"So have you– have you worked here long?" Rey tries asking. Drat her awkward nature.

"No ma'am," he replies, handing her a spud. "Only came up to Lincoln last spring. Woulda stayed as far south as Kansas can get if I'd known what sort of winter we was fixin' for." There's a note of wry humor in his voice.

"You're from Kansas?" 

He shakes his head. "Just stopped through, on my way up from Louisiana. New Orleans."

"Oh!" Rey says. "New Orleans always sounds so wonderful in the papers– such an interesting French influence, don't you think?"

"Oui, mademoiselle." He grins at her while he hands her the next potato. "It is a marvel to behold."

"I saw a photograph of a steamboat in the papers– so clever, that giant wheel! Don't you miss it?"

"Well, yes," he says, pausing in his scrubbing. "Love that city, served as state representative for the 7th ward, you know."

"Really?" Rey is intrigued; she's read about politicians in the papers, of course, but she's never met one in real life.

"Yes, ma'am," he nods importantly. "I'm a firm Republican myself, as you can imagine." Rey nods back. "It's important to have a say in the laws that govern you. God Almighty, it's the most important thing."

Rey considers this. Ben had voted for Weaver back in the fall, the town sending their votes on the last train back East. She supposes she would have voted the same, if she could have. That's the idea, isn't it? The man votes for the whole household?

"Why'd you come up here?" Rey wants to hear more about New Orleans. She imagines the air is warm and humid, like a jungle.

Hado looks a little uneasy. "When the soldiers left… well, it ain't so pleasant there now, you see."

Rey opens her mouth to ask what he means, but Boshti breezes over to them.

"Nearly done?" She scoops the peeled potatoes into a bowl. "I imagine you'll want to sleep early, Miss Reyna, but you'll have to at least wait up for some entertainment after supper. Mr. Djarin is quite the fiddler, and I'm rather light on my feet, if I do say so myself."

"Miss Anilee is a proficient dancer," Hado supplies, grinning down at her. 

"And I could say the same of Mr. Gwin," Boshti curties deeply to him, adding a little flourish of her hand.

They set the potatoes to boiling and Rey helps Boshti to glaze a whole ham (a whole ham!) to be put in the oven. 

The other boarders start to trickle into the dining room for supper. There's a dark haired man who introduces himself as Mr. Djarin, several younger men talking together who Rey suspects must be students at the college, and two girls about her age. She finds herself seated between Mr. Djarin and Mrs. Syndulla. 

"–had all sorts stockpiled in the warehouses here, so it wasn't so bad, I imagine you folks suffered a great deal more–"

"The children did, mostly," Mrs. Syndulla replies with a soft sigh. "More than a few of the little ones didn't make it through…"

Rey concentrates on her ham, and the sauerkraut, and the potatoes, and recites her times tables in her head to block out the rest of the conversation.

As promised, they gather in the parlor after supper for fiddling and dancing. Rey can't stop smiling, clapping along while Boshti and Hado twirl over the handsome carpet. She allows herself to be pulled to her feet into a jaunty polka two-step by one of the University students, who only introduces himself as a Mr. Bodhi Rook after they both collapse, laughing, back onto the settee.

Mrs. Syndulla looks on rather disapprovingly at this new acquaintance of Rey's, and Rey herself is not keen to repeat the incident with Mr. Bridger, so makes her excuses to retire soon after, leaving the others still dancing in the parlor. She smiles to herself in the mirror in her room, undressing for bed. She's never seen herself fully naked before, and examines her body, wondering what exactly Ben finds so attractive– is it her small breasts, her wiry frame? Her bottom, she concedes, is nice and plump; his handprints still decorate her skin in faded bruises, and she shivers as she brushes her hand over them.

She slips in between the cool sheets, and, after a moment of hesitation, sneaks her hand down between her legs. She thinks of Ben that morning, before she left on the train, whispering his farewells into her cunt between wide, wet swipes of his tongue.

The exam takes place in the main building on the campus, a handsome wood and brick structure. As Rey walks up the steps, she tries to imagine taking classes here, trodding this path each day, perhaps from Boshti's boarding house, though it certainly can't be the respectable women-only place Mr. Bridger had mentioned, and can't quite manage it. She fiddles nervously with her bag while she waits, looking over the other prospective students. Of about twenty, only three are girls.

The proctor passes out the little booklets of questions and tells them to begin.

Rey opens to the Orthography section.

_Question 1. What is meant by the following: Alphabet, phonetic orthography, etymology, syllabication?_

Dipping her pen carefully in her ink, she begins to write.

"How was it?"

Mrs. Syndulla looks up when Rey lets herself into the parlor. Rey sinks into an armchair next to her.

"O.K., I think," she says, tiredly. "I had an answer for everything, at the very least. Suppose it remains to be seen if I was quite mistaken on something."

"' _O.K._ '" Mrs. Syndulla shakes her head, though there's the hint of a smile around her lips. "My father would tell you not to use slang. Well that's the best that can be hoped for, I think. You'll just do your best tomorrow, and that's all wrapped up in one."

Rey retires directly after supper that night, feeling quite exhausted. The single bed in its private room feels lonely tonight, rather than luxurious. She wishes she had a warm body to curl up against, an arm wrapped around her sleeping form.

 _Not a body_ , she corrects herself, _I wish I had Ben._

Her eyelids slide shut, and, too tired for self-abuse, she drifts to sleep.

When she wakes it's still dark. She yawns and gets out of bed to relieve herself in the chamber pot, then goes to pour herself some water from the porcelain pitcher, only to find it dry. 

"Drat," she whispers. Perhaps there's a pitcher in the kitchen? 

Feeling rather like a thief creeping around someone else's house, she opens her door as silently as she can, tiptoeing across the hall and down the stairs in her stocking feet. Still half-asleep as she is, she doesn't quite register the voices in the kitchen until she's just outside the door

"–lucky not to have been found out yet. It's _illegal_ , Bosh," Mrs. Syndulla's voice is strained. Rey stops short.

"Laws can be changed," Boshti's voice comes hotly through the door. "In Kansas it's not outlawed, and other states have overturned–"

"Fine, so say it is legalized. You think you'll be let to live in peace? Haven't you heard what's happened to those poor lads down South?"

"Of course I've heard, Hera," Boshti says quietly. "It keeps me up at night, for the worry of it. I know it's an awful risk, what else should we do? Part forever? I love him, and he loves me. I've never met anyone who– who _dances_ to the same tune–"

Rey backs away from the door, holding her breath and praying none of the floorboards squeak. 

As she slides back between her sheets, thirst forgotten, her mind buzzes. Boshti and Hado? They were certainly a handsome couple, dancing together as they had the night before. Mrs. Syndulla's dire words of warning echo in her head– what were they to do? Live in secrecy forever, fearful of being found out? 

_What are we to do, Ben?_ She rolls over on her side, staring out the small window, framed with its pretty curtains, into the night.

The 8th grade certificate exam is comparatively easier. Rey sits it in a one-room schoolhouse a few blocks from the University, and she's proud to think that it isn't so much nicer than the schoolhouse in Red Cloud. The schoolmarm is a smiling woman who calls her _Dear_ and slips her a half-penny piece of candy when she's finished. Rey thanks her profusely, feeling a bit bad for making her grade an additional exam, but the schoolmarm– a Miss Sabé– waves her off and wishes her luck with her studies. 

And just like that, Rey is finished with her exams. She walks back to the boarding house, a bit disoriented. All she has now to do is to wait for the results. 

She finds Boshti and Mrs. Syndulla in the kitchen. Boshti pauses in plucking a chicken to look up at her.

"You're finished?" Rey nods and Boshti throws her hands up in jubilation, scattering feathers everywhere. She wraps Rey in a tight hug and Rey finds herself leaning into it, burying her reluctant grin in Boshti's shoulder. It's warm and matronly, a mother's embrace. 

"We ought to do something to celebrate!"

Mrs. Syndulla peers up at them from the table where she's shucking spring peas. "Like what?"

Boshti considers. "You haven't been to the soda fountain, have you?"

They set the chicken to baking, leaving the house maid in charge of its supervision, and set out across town to the druggist. 

Rey had seen soda fountains in New York, of course, but she had never been in the position to visit one, or to try a drink from the polished spigots. The one in Lincoln Drug is smaller than some of the models in the city drug stores, but it's proud and gleaming, little nozzles along the bottom for syrups and the names of different mineral waters inscribed in metal script under three larger taps. 

"Good afternoon, ladies." The soda jerk tips his hat at them. "What can I do for you?"

"What will you try, Rey?" Boshti peers at the inscriptions near the syrups.

Rey flounders. "I don't know, I've never had a soda before. What is there?"

"Try a phosphate soda," the soda jerk suggests. "They're all the rage."

"Alright," Rey says. "Do you– do you have cherry syrup?"

"We do indeed," he smiles and reaches for a glass. 

Mrs. Syndulla orders her mineral water straight, while Boshti asks for an egg cream. They all sit down at the little table in the corner of the shop to try their drinks. Rey takes a sip and promptly squeezes her eyes shut when the drink fizzes in her mouth.

"Oh!" Boshti laughs at her, and Rey smiles back goodnaturedly, taking another, smaller sip. The fizziness is nice, once she gets used to it, and it's sweet and tangy, like nothing she's ever tasted before. "It's good!"

"So what do you think, Rey," Boshti asks her between sips. "Are you excited to move to Lincoln?"

"I suppose," Rey takes a large gulp of her soda. "I mean, Lincoln is a very nice city, certainly. Only I'll miss B– everyone in Red Cloud."

"We're only a train ride away," Mrs. Syndulla points out. "You young ladies have so many opportunities these days, you ought to take advantage of them."

Rey nods, finishing her soda silently. 

Her bed that night feels colder than ever. Is this what college will be like? Holding a pillow tight at night and counting the days till the next visit home? Her throat seizes up and she can't help the tears that leak out to wet the pillowcase. 

Their train doesn't leave until late morning on Saturday, and Boshti urges Rey and Mrs. Syndulla to see a bit more of Lincoln while they can.

"We never even saw the dress shop over on Third, bit of a haberdashery as well, they have the most stunning hats– those feather notions are getting absolutely ridiculous, of course, but I do love a bit of trim– and there's a pastry shop, hmm, let me think, a book seller–"

"A book shop?" Rey perks up, pausing her rummaging in her carpet bag. 

"Oh, yes," Boshti smiles. "Over on 9th and Q Street."

"Rey reads beautifully," Mrs. Syndulla says. "You ought to hear her read out the scripture." Rey smiles bashfully, rather touched at this. "You won't be stooping to the vice of novels, of course," she adds to Rey in a clipped tone. Rey ducks her head and mumbles that she won't.

"Just– I like poetry, you know, and I thought another history book might…"

"I suppose that's alright," Mrs. Syndulla sniffs, gathering her own bag. 

Boshti gives Rey a warm hug goodbye, and manages to pull Mrs. Syndulla into one as well.

Hado comes out of the kitchen to tip his hat farewell to them. Rey waves her goodbyes, trying to subtly study Hado and Boshti side-by-side in the doorway of the boardinghouse, both grinning broadly. She hopes they'll find happiness somehow. 

The book shop is where Boshti had indicated. Rey can't help but gawk at the shelves full to bursting of fine, leather-bound tomes. She trails her fingers along the spines, plucking one at random from the poetry section and opening the page, breathing the words to herself.

_And now I wander all alone,  
Nor heed the balmy breeze,  
But list the ring dove's tender moan,  
And think upon the seas.  
_

_The wind that rushes through the wood,  
Has swept the fatal waves,–  
Far– far beneath the briny flood,  
Deep– deep in ocean's caves_  
"Pretty, isn't it?" 

Rey looks up to find the shop attendant watching her. He has a sort of refined accent, which she can't place.

"Oh, yes!" Rey brushes her fingers down the page. "So sad, though. It really feels like she lost her friend to a shipwreck."

"She did." He takes the book from her, showing her the author's name on the title page. "Her dear friend, one Mrs. Theodosia Burr Alston. Of course, no one can really say if it was a shipwreck."

Rey's jaw drops.

"I read the confession of a man who had been on the pirate ship that overtook them! It was all over the papers!"

His eyes crinkle. "Who can say, I suppose, even if we could trust the deathbed confessions of former pirates."

"It'd be much more exciting to be forced to walk the plank, though, don't you think? And she was supposed to be so dignified in death– nobody can be dignified during a _shipwreck_ –"

"Pirates? I thought you were quite above novels, Rey–" 

Mrs. Syndulla has drifted over to their corner of the shop, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Syndulla, I wasn't–"

"I was simply telling her about this history of the British empire," the attendant cuts in smoothly, holding out the book with its title obscured. "Pirates were quite a nuisance to the Navy, you understand."

"I see," Mrs. Syndulla says, checking her pocket watch. "Rey, we'd better be off to the depot."

"Let me just package this up for you," the shopkeeper says, slipping behind his desk and wrapping the book in brown paper. Mrs. Syndulla steps out onto the boardwalk while Rey reaches into her carpet bag for her pocketbook with the spending money Ben had given her. The attendant waves her away. "Anything to convince you of the excitement of shipwrecks."

"Oh! Well, then, thank you, Mr.–?"

"Galen Erso." He holds his hand out for her to shake, smiling at her while she leaves the shop.

The train leaves from the station at exactly eleven o'clock. Rey watches the pretty, green prairie slide past the window while Mrs. Syndulla returns to her lace knitting. 

It was… nice, she admits to herself, being in a city as large as Lincoln. There were things to do and people to see, more things to buy than were offered in a General Store. Surely the college would be more interesting, the books and shops more varied. Still, as Red Cloud comes into view outside the window, she can't help but feel her heart soar with the familiarity of it. And there, standing on the platform, hands in his pockets while he watches the train slow, is Ben, waiting for her in the dying afternoon light.

Rey hefts her carpet bag and has her hand sliding open the door to the car before the train fully comes to a stop.

"Ben!"

He turns toward her, his face lighting up, and she flies into his arms.

"Oh, I've missed you!" She buries her face in his shirt, breathing him in. His arms come around her to hold her tight, before they slacken and he takes a half-step away from her. 

"Mrs. Syndulla," he says, and Rey spins to find her watching them, a queer frown on her face. "Can't thank you enough."

"Yes, thank you ever so much," Rey says, trying to straighten herself. 

"She's a good girl," Mrs. Syndulla says to Ben; there's something pointed in her expression. "Clever, too. She could go real far."

"I know," Ben says fondly, smiling down at Rey. "Well, thank you kindly, we best be gettin' on home now."

He tips his hat to Mrs. Syndulla and hefts her carpet bag over his shoulder to lead Rey off the platform to the wagon. Rey is seized with the memory of the first time she'd come to Red Cloud, nearly a year ago now, and their first trip back to the homestead. Her heart clenches again, an odd sort of aching joy.

Seated next to him on the hard seat as the team pulls them away from the town, she nuzzles her head against his shoulder.

He chuckles at her.

"Really missed me, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," she says. She lifts a little off the seat to bury her face in his neck, daring to dart her tongue out to taste his skin.

"Rey," he says warningly.

"What?" she says, all innocence, her hand drifting to his upper thigh. "There's no one around."

She's right, they're well out onto prairie now, on a poorly traveled road. Her hand drifts a bit higher, brushing over the bulge in his blue jeans.

Ben huffs a deep breath, closing his eyes. Rey decides to push her luck.

"I just want to make you feel good, Papa," she says, leaning up again to nip a little at his earlobe while she rubs him through the heavy fabric of his pants. 

"Rey," he says again, but there's a husky quality to it now, the reins a bit slack in his hand. She laves her tongue over the stubble that runs down from his jaw, sucking at the skin of his neck, though she knows it'll bruise if she's not careful. 

"Do you want me to use my mouth on you, Papa?" She unbuttons his trousers to slip her hand in and he jerks in the wagon seat.

" _Yes_ ," he hisses. She smiles smugly and pulls him free, leaning low in the wagon seat to lick at his head, dragging her tongue up and down his shaft.

She loses herself in the sensation of his smooth skin in her mouth, in the small grunts she can pull from him with pursing lips or little swirls of her tongue against the slit at the top. She masturbates him with the loose collar of skin around the head, cupping his testicles in her other hand, and he groans, knocking her hat askew when he threads his fingers through her hair.

"B–best stop now, sweetheart," he slurs, tightening his grip to tug her off of him. "Wanna fuck you when we get back."

His words send a thrill through her and she agrees breathlessly, mouthing at his neck again, pulling open his shirt a bit so she can press sloppy kisses to his shoulder, his collarbone.

"Made a real monster outta you," he says, one hand coming to grasp her around her waist while she tugs at his hair.

She giggles, reaching down to fondle him again. "You're the monster."

His hand comes up to tangle in her hair again, growling as he pulls her to his mouth for a kiss. "Yes I am."

It's lucky the mules know their way back to the homestead, because Ben isn't driving. He kisses her with a soft sort of ferocity, plush lips moving against hers, tongue darting out to lick into her mouth. 

Rey sighs into the kiss. How could she leave this? How she could give this up, when it's everything that she wants?

Ben pulls away to take the reins again as they ford the creek, and then they're pulling up to the barn and he's lifting her bodily from the wagon. 

"Don't wanna spook the mules," he says. The shanty is apparently too great a distance and Rey finds herself pressed against the barn wall, just inside the door, Ben rucking up her skirts and biting at the back of her neck in a way that'll surely leave a mark.

He slides home with a single thrust, and _oh_ it's so good.

" _Fuck_." It comes out breathy and high-pitched, her mouth dropping open with the pleasure of it as he pulls out to thrust in again.

Ben huffs a laugh into her neck, soothing his bites with his tongue, working up a rhythm with his hips. "Never– hngh– heard you use that word before."

"You– _ah_ – you use it all the ti– _ime_ –"

Her eyes roll back as he speeds up; she doesn't think he'll last long, and she's quickly approaching her own climax. He works his hand up to rub at her clitoris and then she's clenching around him, crying out in her pleasure. 

Ben curses as he pulls himself from her cunt, leaving her to sag limply against the barn wall and moving his hand roughly over his shaft until his spend shoots out onto her backside. 

"Oughta take our baths tonight," he murmurs, rubbing it into her skin.

"Mmkay," Rey says blearily. "Whatever you want, Papa."

"Anything?" His voice has a distant quality to it, and when she looks around at him he's gazing at her with a forlorn sort of expression, but he only shakes his head to her questioning look, and helps her right her skirts and bring her carpet bag inside. 

In bed at night, both slightly damp from their baths, she wraps herself tight around him. It's no trouble at all to fall asleep.

At church the following day, Rey feels a bit like a celebrity. Everyone wants to know how she found Lincoln, how her exams went, what the University was like. She smiles and tries to answer as best she can, but she's grateful when the sermon starts and she can simply listen to Pastor Dameron.

Rose finds her after, an incredibly pleased expression on her face. She takes Rey's arm as they walk out of the church.

"Oh, Rey, you'll never guess what happened!"

"What, what is it?" Whatever it is, it's made Rose the gladdest Rey's seen her since Zorii died.

"There's a new company man at the depot, a Mr. Lintra– they sent him all the way from Chicago! He has a wife, and she's used to all the fine, city things, she put out that she was looking for a dressmaking in Red Cloud, and Mr. Snap told her husband that I'd made you that traveling suit. And– oh Rey!– she has a sewing machine, and she's going to _pay_ me to sew her a new frock, with new material and everything!"

"That's wonderful, Rose!"

"Isn't it just?" Rose sighs happily. "Oh _do_ let's go look at the fabric again, Rey, please?"

Rey agrees readily, and they make their way down the street to the General Store, chatting along the way about which style Mrs. Lintra is likely to want, and which fabric she'll buy. 

Rey peruses the dry goods while Rose strokes the different bolts of fabric like they're pets she'd quite like to bring home. Rey orders some flour and sugar– they're running low– and after a bit of debate with herself gets a pound of oyster crackers as a treat. She can't carry it all back to the church on her own though, she ought to run and get Ben to pull the wagon around...

"Do you mind if I go and fetch the wagon?" Rose nods absently, and Rey leaves her to her daydreaming.

She finds Ben talking to Mr. Snap. 

"Well, howdy Miss Rey! How'd your exams go?"

"Very well, Mr. Snap," she smiles at him. "It was ever so kind of you to pass Rose's name along to Mrs. Lintra."

"Miss Rose is a talented little dressmaker, think her skill speaks for itself."

Rey smiles at him. "Ben, can we pull the wagon around to the General Store? Only I ordered too much to carry back here."

"Sure thing, sweetheart." He squeezes her shoulder affectionately. "See ya Thursday, Snap."

Mr. Snap tips his hat at them, and they make their way to the wagon back behind the church. Rey excitedly tells him about Rose's dressmaking plans and Ben listens, smiling at her chatter. 

At the General Store, Ben carries the flour and sugar out to the wagon, while Rey lofts the oyster crackers triumphantly above her head. Rose has disappeared from the fabric section, and Rey is a bit disappointed; she'd wanted to say goodbye, perhaps make plans to meet up sometime, now that neither of them are in school.

"Did Rose just leave?" she asks Mr. McQuarrie, who runs the shop. Maybe she can catch her.

He nods. "Just a few minutes ago."

That's odd. They ought to have run into her on the road from the church. Rey exits the store, wandering a little ways up the street, craning her neck to see if she can catch a glimpse of Rose's distinctive, black-clad figure.

There's a sound from an alleyway between a house and a barn part way up Third Avenue. Curious, Rey goes to investigate. Rose's black dress comes into view.

"Oh! There you are– what are you doing down here, Rose–?"

But there's something wrong, Rose is struggling against a shadowy figure who has his hand clamped tight over her mouth. A flash of red hair– _Hux!_

For a horrifying second Rey can't make a sound. But she takes a big, gulping gasp of air and then screams with all her might. "BEN!"

There's more commotion in the alley, but it's too dimly lit for her to see. She's rushing forward without consciously deciding to, and then Rose is collapsing in her arms, shaking and weeping. Ben charges up from Main Street. 

"What? What happened?"

"I– where'd he– _Hux_ –"

" _Fuck_ ," he snarls. There's a sound of hoofbeats and Ben roars something into the distance. Rey can only focus on Rose, smoothing her hair back, helping her back to the main road to sit in their wagon. 

"Is she alright?" He's back.

"I think so," Rey says quietly. "Could you drive us back to the church?"

Rose is drawing deep breaths. There's bruising on her neck, and a long scratch down the side of her face. Her dress is torn.

"Rose," Rey says to her in a low voice, "did he–?" 

Rose shakes her head. "You interrupted him," she says in a hoarse whisper. Tears track down her cheeks.

Most of the parishioners have gone from the church yard, for which Rey is grateful. She helps Rose out of the wagon, and into the building.

"Rosie?" Mrs. Dameron looks up from the pew where she's talking to old lady Maz. Temiri and Kes are playing nearby with a small wooden horse, and Rey's heart jumps into her throat until she spots Shara talking with some other little girls from school near the stove.

" _Ma_ ," Rose bawls; Mrs. Dameron catches her in her arms, looking stricken. Rey's not sure how to explain, but Ben comes in, speaking lowly with Mr. Dameron, whose face is thunderous with fury.

"–sheriff'll have to listen this time, so far out of line–"

"–know he won't care, Dameron, he's got business interests with Hux north of town–"

Old lady Maz is watching their conversation closely. Her white hair is combed neatly behind her ears, contrasting with her dark, wrinkled skin, but she vibrates with a sort of unkempt, chaotic energy. "Those _beasts_ ," she spits. "Something must be done, young Solo."

She holds Ben's gaze until he gives a short nod, donning his hat to step back out of the church. Rey's nonplussed. What can be done, if the sheriff is so unwilling to enforce the law?

Rose gradually calms down, and the Damerons load into their wagon to go home; Rey waves sadly at them as they leave. Ben lopes back into the church yard while they trundle down Main Street, and Old lady Maz salutes at him and Rey from behind her own team, driving off to her homestead with its peach orchard south of town.

"Alerted the sheriff," Ben says gruffly, stepping up into the wagon seat. "Armitage Hux is a wanted man."

"Whatever did you tell him? I thought the sheriff wouldn't arrest him."

"Told him what I've suspected for some time now," Ben sighs. "That Armitage Hux is an alias of the wanted outlaw, Brendol's Bastard, a.k.a., The Kid. There's a reward out for him still; only thing that'd motivate the sheriff to go after him."

Rey's jaw drops. She doesn't think it properly closes again the whole, wretched ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Mentions of post-Reconstruction racial violence and anti-miscegenation laws. Some 19th century road head and subsequent barn fucking (with a minor). Attempted sexual assault (Rose is attacked by Hux).**  
>    
> I tried handling the attempted sexual assault as delicately as I could, but please let me know if there's any way to improve– with content warnings or actual content. I realize I've used assault as a plot point a few times now; I guess my justification is that I'm playing around with classic old west tropes and trying to re-examine them in a new light. Happy to discuss in the comments or on Twitter ([@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23).)
> 
> In 1881 we're in full Reconstruction hangover. The presidential election of 1876 was very close, and resulted in [The Compromise of 1877](https://tinyurl.com/megnee8), which involved the removal of Union troops from the South, essentially ending the Reconstruction era. This invited a wave of violence against Blacks in the South, and there was a wave of migration (NOT the Great Migration) which involved about 40,000 people, known as the [Exodusters](https://tinyurl.com/y8nygnr9), moving to the Great Plains states.
> 
> While voting rights were protected in the South, there were a large number of [Black politicians](https://tinyurl.com/y8xcsex3) that held office. They were nearly always Republicans (keep in mind this was the party of Lincoln, and that the parties largely swapped platforms in the early to mid-20th century.) Nebraska did have an [anti-miscegenation law](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anti-miscegenation_laws_in_the_United_States), which prevented whites from intermarrying with Blacks and Asians; it would not be repealed until 1963.
> 
> The [election](https://tinyurl.com/yxj6bhb8) of 1880 was also very close; it went for the Republican candidate (James A. Garfield). Ben, however, voted for the upstart left-wing candidate [James B. Weaver](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_B._Weaver) from the Greenback party, which, as historian Herbert Clancy put it, "anticipated by almost fifty years the progressive legislation of the first quarter of the twentieth century." In conclusion, Ben is a Bernie Bro.
> 
> Victorian [soda fountains](https://tinyurl.com/y23m2fee) were wild. You've likely had phosphate soda; phosphoric acid is the ingredient that makes Coca-Cola tangy. Coke wasn't invented until 1886, and [cocaine](https://tinyurl.com/y6qw8olj) wasn't added to soda fountain drinks until around the same time, so Rey is not inadvertently getting high.
> 
> I fell into a deep research rabbit hole on Twi'leks; since I casually mentioned Mrs. Syndulla had a cousin, I had to figure out who that was, and one thing led to another. Anyway, I was originally going to feature some Twi'lek sex workers but that got ahead of me pretty quickly and I decided to stick with [Boshti Anilee](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Boshti_Anilee) who canonically dances with [Hado Gwin](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hado_Gwin) in _Solo: A Star Wars Story_. I imagine [Cham Syndulla](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Cham_Syndulla) as an aged fighter who would've been around at the time of the invention of the word [OK](https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/how-word-ok-was-invented-175-years-ago-180953258/).
> 
> The poem is [_On A Friend Who Was Supposed To Have Suffered A Shipwreck_](http://canadianpoetry.org/2016/06/28/widow-of-the-rock/) by Margaret Blennerhasset, and yes it is about _that_ [Theodosia Burr](https://tinyurl.com/y8xyeerj). 
> 
> Papa Ben is uncut: confirmed.
> 
> Hope everyone is holding up under the new onslaught of craziness that 2020 has offered. If you're American, please, please vote for Biden (and all the way down your ballot) in the upcoming election. I didn't vote for him in the primary but I'm sure as hell voting for him now. Also if you're voting by mail, double-check that your ballot is in the secrecy sleeve and also make sure you sign the envelope! Ballots get tossed all the time because we live in an undemocratic hell hole!
> 
> Stay safe everyone, love you all!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe peep those new tags. Content warnings in the end notes.

The siding is up on the first, and part of the second, floor of the house. The roof is shingled, and there are whispers of a porch wrapped around the front; a pile of whittled posts lies in wait to one side, dreaming of holding a railing. The frames for the windows still stare blankly at the far field, but Ben promises they'll have real glass panes soon, maybe even with the next train.

Rey is agog at the progress. The last time she'd properly looked the house over there'd only been a skeleton, standing starkly against the blue of the sky, the wood boards new and pretty and smelling of pine. 

With her exams over, Rey has more time to do chores around the shanty and the homestead, freeing Ben to do more work on the house. She takes over the milking and the feeding, tends to the neglected garden, and carts buckets of water to the new peach saplings in their little orchard. It's exhausting, but it takes her mind off of her test results, which have not yet come, and it lets her forget, just for a few minutes at a time, the horrible events with Mr. Hux and Rose.

There's no news from the sheriff on Hux's whereabouts, and Ben says they can only hope that he'll stay clear of Webster county now there's a bounty out for him. Rey nods in agreement, but internally she worries, about Rose, who she hasn't seen since Sunday and who could be in any imaginable nervous condition, and about Hux, who, regardless of his whereabouts, is surely out there terrorizing _someone_.

The weather takes a turn for the hot and sticky as the week wears on, so that Rey seeks refuge in the shade between her chores, taking off her bonnet to wipe her sweaty brow with her apron. She can't bring herself to stoke the stove in the sweltering shanty, and so it's a cold lunch for her and Ben– yesterday's bread, butter, cold milk, the last of old lady Maz's peach preserves, a jar of green tomatoes that Rey had pickled herself in the fall, tinned ox tongue. 

They settle on a blanket in the soft grass under a tree, the creek less swollen than just after the thaw, but still rushing and eager. 

Ben is burnt a bit on his neck, where his hat had failed to shade him from the sun; Rey tries to soothe it with hands dipped in the chilled water and held against his skin. He squawks a bit at the cold. Rey laughs at him and flicks some water in his face, cupping the back of her own neck in hopes of cooling a bit.

"It's so hot," she sighs. "Never thought I'd complain after that winter, but Lord…"

* "Could take that shirt off," Ben suggests, his innocent tone belied by his wicked grin. "Just so you're more comfortable."

Rey rolls her eyes at him, but it's not a bad idea really, and she finds herself unbuttoning until she's just in her combinations from the waist up, her corset left off that morning in deference to the heat. 

Ben eyes her chest appreciatively before he rolls over to dip his own hand in the creek, bringing it up to drip down her flushed neck and onto the thin fabric covering her breasts. 

Rey hisses as her nipples immediately tighten.

"Ben!" she protests. "You've got me all wet!"

"Have I now?" The wicked grin is back. He reaches up to pop open the top button. "Really oughta hang it to dry then…"

He manages to get the top part of the combinations open, but then there's the issue of the skirt closure over top, and so Rey is compelled to unfasten it and kick it off while Ben unhelpfully gropes her newly exposed skin, kissing her collarbone and the sides of her breasts while he pulls her underwear down. 

Once she is sprawled on the blanket quite naked, and panting slightly from the exertion of becoming so, Ben sits up to admire her. "Better?"

"I suppose," Rey huffs, but it _is_ better, to be naked and cool in the shade, exposed to the subtle shifts in the air around them. She stretches luxuriously into the nothingness above her, nuzzling into the soft blanket on the cushioned ground.

"Reckon I'd be content to sit and watch you forever," Ben says, a soft quirk to his lips, reaching to caress her newly bared ankle; his hand wraps fully around without even trying. He leans forward to press a kiss to her knee.

"Mm," Rey stretches again, trailing her fingernails down her own torso, raising goose bumps on her skin. She wishes they might sit here forever too, for surely this little spot of shade could rival the garden of Eden, but they only have the odd hour before chores beckon once more. Her fingers still in the dark curls above her mound. "I– I must confess," she says. "I made an error, while I was away."

"Alright." Ben frowns slightly in question.

"I may have– have committed the sin of self-abuse." Her fingers inch lower still. Ben's stern expression fades immediately. "I just– I missed you, and–"

"Show me," he interrupts; his breathing is just the slightest bit labored. "Show Papa what you did to yourself, sweetheart."

Rey lets her knees fall open and edges her fingers down so they split her lips. She's a bit wet already, and she captures the moisture on the tip of her index finger to spread it slowly around her clitoris. 

"I– I thought about you," she says breathily, looking up at him. Her finger speeds up. "Saying goodbye the morning I left, when you licked my–"

"Ah ah, nice and slow now," his grip tightens on her ankle. "There's a good girl."

Rey pants a bit as her clitoris grows swollen and heavy, little zings of pleasure coursing through her with each tight circle of her fingers. 

"Is it as good as when Papa frigs you, sweetheart?" His voice is low and his gaze has not wavered from her cunt, surely glistening by now; she can feel her secretions drip down onto the blanket beneath her.

"No," she whines, continuing at this horrid, too-slow pace. Her chest is flushed pink, her skin a live wire; even the little circles Ben traces on her ankle have her shuddering.

"Would Papa's finger in your little cunny make it better?"

" _Yes_."

She gasps at the intrusion, his thick finger breaching her while she continues her own torturous self-assault.

"There now, my sweet girl," he pumps his finger in and out of her. "Papa will make it better. Would you like another?"

"Yes, _please, Papa, please, please– _"__

__She feels his finger prod at her, but it's too low, not aiming for her cunt at all. She's so slick he sinks in almost easily, but she still squeaks in surprise at the unyielding pressure on the furled muscle of her behind._ _

__" _Ah_ , B-Ben–"_ _

__He's leaning over her now, watching her face. "Mm. Just relax sweetheart." He presses in further, moving his finger in little circles around the tight rim. "Keep playing with that pretty little clitoris."_ _

__Rey feels like she's floating, so full, pinned like a butterfly with her legs spread wide, building to something wild, explosive. She hardly notices Ben withdrawing his finger from her cunt until he's pressing his cock into her; his finger in her ass pushes further still. She keens, panting, fumbling her slow circles as her eyes roll back in her head._ _

__"–things you make– me want to–" Ben is murmuring filthy nothings in her ear between his thrusts, but Rey can hardly focus, so close is she, suspended in the rising nothingness of–_ _

__She crashes and seizes around him with a scream, the pleasure so explosive she can hardly bear it. He holds her legs open and her fingers to her clitoris, guiding their frantic rubbing with his own giant hand. The slightest lull, and then she's gripped again, a stronger wave that pulls her under, her garbling like a woman drowned._ _

__Rey comes to after she crests her third peak, her body rocked by Ben's desperate thrusts, his grunts huffed against her throat, as he works his way deeper and deeper inside of her. She stares uncomprehendingly at the sky between the bows of the tree above them, waves of pleasure washing through her in great rolling shudders, and gazes into the endless blue. *_ _

__

__The cemetery is a little plot to the west of town, surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Rose carries proper flowers brought on the train from a hot house in the city, but Rey and Finn have fistfuls of wild flowers. They carefully lay their little bundles in front of Zorii's grave._ _

__"I can't believe it's been three months already," Rose says softly. She's in dark gray, out of full mourning now. Rey nods, though she can't quite reconcile how the time has passed. It feels like yesterday that Zorii was alive, and yet so much has happened since her funeral… it might have been years._ _

__They settle in the grass around her headstone and Rose opens her picnic basket to pull out a cold dinner for the three of them– ham and bread and butter, pickled beets and onion, some hard sausage and sharp cheese bought in town._ _

__"Old Mr. Syndulla told me we were bein' awful morbid, coming here to picnic," Finn remarks as he accepts his portion. "Grumbled on about disrespecting the dead, or something."_ _

__"What have the dead to fear besides being forgotten?" Rey says in a sad, dreamy tone._ _

__"What's that a quote from?" Finn squints at her._ _

__"Oh, no– I made it up," Rey replies hastily, blushing a little._ _

__"S'pose we should expect nothing less from a girl who earned 'with distinction' on her 8th grade exam," he grins. Rey blushes harder._ _

__"Oh, I'll miss you terribly when you're gone away to college," Rose says; she grasps Rey's hand and Rey swallows down the lump in her throat. She had indeed received her passing marks on the entrance exam as well, and is set to matriculate in the fall._ _

__"I'll come and visit," she says, though she wonders how that could possibly make up for all the time spent away. "And you'll have Finn here."_ _

__"That's true." Rose leans into him, and he hooks his arm around her waist, squeezing gently._ _

__Rose had been a bit clingy since the incident with Mr. Hux, practically hanging off Rey at church on Sundays and any time they went for a stroll around town or near the Damerons' homestead. When Finn returned from the cattle drive, he'd become the main object of her affections._ _

__Rey watches their casual embrace, chewing her lip anxiously, wondering once again how everything would shake out._ _

__"The Pastor thinks I oughta claim my own homestead," Finn says. "Now the ranches are all goin' bankrupt; be a bit more secure if I did my own farming."_ _

__"That's so exciting!" Rey says; Rose beams at him._ _

__They while away the afternoon making lists of the things Finn would need to start a proper farm, which crops he should try and grow, where the best available land would be._ _

__"Nearly all the claims near us are free," Rey offers. "If you don't mind such a long drive from town."_ _

__Finn nods, biting his lip and writing on a piece of scrap paper with a pencil._ _

__"Oh! I forgot to tell you," Rose says as they pack up their picnic dinner. "Mrs. Lintra wants me to sew her another dress!"_ _

__"So she liked the first?"_ _

__"Yes, said it was as good as anything she could get in the city! And she hates sewing on the machine, so she said she'd let me take it home to work instead!"_ _

__"That's wonderful, Rose!"_ _

__"Just think," Rose says dreamily. "I could make dresses for all of Red Cloud."_ _

__"Well, you've always got my business," Rey says solemnly._ _

__"And mine!" Finn chimes in with a wry grin. "'Course I might have to be on credit for a while."_ _

__Rose laughs along before sobering._ _

__"This is how we prevail," she says; her voice breaks a little. "Not fighting what we hate, saving what we love."_ _

__She drops to her knees and presses a kiss to the marble headstone bearing Zorii's name._ _

__

__Rey helps Ben to mount the lath on the inside of the walls, and then fill the gaps with straw and crumpled newspapers. Ben shows her the plans while he paces through the shells of rooms, pointing out the kitchen and the parlor, the dining room and the pantry. And the bedrooms, so many Rey can't help but imagine who will occupy them._ _

__"Thought this one could be ours," he says shyly, pushing open a door to the largest. It overlooks the creek, and the prairie beyond; in the evenings they'll have a wonderful view of the setting sun._ _

__Rey turns to him, rapidly blinking tears out of her eyes. Ben falters._ _

__"Oh, no, sweetheart–"_ _

__She collapses into his arms and buries her face in his shirt. "Oh, _Ben_ , how can I leave you?" she sobs. "And the farm, and the house–"_ _

__He squeezes her tight._ _

__"Ain't goin' anywhere," he says. "You won't be gone the whole year anyhow." He rubs her back soothingly. "Just want what's best for you, sweetheart, and I think you'd kick yourself later if your schoolin' stopped at the 8th grade."_ _

__"That's true." Rey says in a watery voice, cheek pressed against his damp shirt._ _

__"Go and learn what you can in Lincoln, and once you got your fancy accolades, and you're a bit more grown, well, then we can settle down for real."_ _

__"For rea–?" Rey gapes up at him. "You want to marry me?"_ _

__His lips quirk. "'Course I do, sweetheart. Know I did everythin' backward, but I promise I'll be a good husband. Won't ever get cross with you, and you'll always have meat on your table–"_ _

__Rey surges up to cut him off with a kiss. He cups her head tenderly, fingers trailing, featherlight, against her neck._ _

__"Can I still call you Papa?" she asks breathlessly when they break apart._ _

__Ben's eyes crinkle at the edges. "Sure hope you do."_ _

__If Rey had her way they would have, well, _fucked_ , right then and there. But Ben frets about loose nails, and splinters in the wood, and so she relents and allows him to lead her back outside. She gathers a blanket from the shanty and spreads it out under the canopy by the creek. _ _

__**"Rather see you naked and frolicking in the sunlight anyhow," he says fondly, undoing her apron and tugging her into another kiss. "My little forest nymph."_ _

__There's no hurry to their motions, the pile of discarded clothing growing steadily between kisses until they're both naked as the day they were born. Ben reaches for her but Rey darts away, grinning madly._ _

__"Forest nymphs are always being chased," she giggles._ _

__He plays along splendidly, barreling toward her, snorting and snarling like a great horned god, so she shrieks and kicks when he catches her up in his arms. He seems to have a good time subduing her, pinning all her limbs to the ground (though he carefully positions them over the blanket) his erect manhood bobbing threateningly above her, as commanding as Pan himself. He covers her face and neck in growled kisses and Rey is breathless with laughter that fades into a low moan when he ruts into her._ _

__The air is hot and still and Rey grows drowsy after, so comfortable is she on the spread blanket, with Ben draped over her form. He mouths lazily at her skin, kneading her breast before pulling her nipple between his lips, suckling gently. Rey breathes deep in the soft pleasure and threads her fingers through the strands of his hair to hold him to her chest, her eyelids drooping._ _

__She wakes turned onto her belly. Ben is smoothing his hands over her back and down her spine, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder and neck. He covers her completely, his weight heavy and comforting. She whines a little as he presses into her again, thick and slow, but he shushes her, his grunts quiet and thrusts measured, like he doesn't want to disturb her rest._ _

__It's good, Rey thinks stupidly in her semi-lucid state. It's always good._ _

__She closes her eyes once more and loses herself to Ben's soft panting above her. **_ _

__

__Finn and Pastor Dameron come around one Thursday to survey some of the surrounding claims. The Pastor whistles when he sees the house._ _

__"Whoo-ee, you made some real progress, Solo!"_ _

__They have real window panes now, and doors and shutters. The front porch– Ben calls it a _veranda_ – is complete and all the whittled poles are in their proper places. _ _

__Rey tags along on Star. Finn grins at her when he sees her riding up behind them._ _

__"Not bad," he says, eyeing her critically. "How's he handle at a gallop?"_ _

__Rey nudges Star to pick up speed, and she and Finn race up the creek, her bonnet falling from her head and held on by the strings around her neck. They whoop and holler at each other until they reach a natural bend and turn around to rejoin the older men._ _

__Ben shakes his head at them but his eyes crinkle at the edges._ _

__"This claim ain't half-bad," he tells Finn, who nods, expression suddenly very businesslike. "Could put your house and barn near the turn in the creek and have the wind blocked from the north and west. And the creek's mighty useful irrigatin' crops, a'course. Some lumber, too, from the trees along here, though you'll wanna be careful of cuttin' too many at once."_ _

__They all wander the claim, pointing out different features, a place for a well, a wheat field, a pasture to graze horses._ _

__Rey runs to fetch them all a canteen of water from her saddle around noon, the sun high and sweltering. Ben's wandered off beyond a small swell in the prairie, but Finn and Pastor Dameron are conversing in low voices near the creek bend._ _

__"–mighty fine claim, Finn, just don't like the thought of you so far away–"_ _

__He's holding Finn's hand in both of his, and the tenderness is such that Rey has to avert her eyes._ _

__"Water?" she calls to them, making her voice bright and cheery._ _

__Finn pulls his hand away and grins broadly at her._ _

__"Thank you kindly, Miss Rey!"_ _

__The Pastor smiles at her too, but he has a distant look in his eye, like an old sort of sadness. Ben ambles back across the prairie toward them, and Pastor Dameron shakes his head, back to his old grin, as warm as any Rey's seen him smile before._ _

__He claps his hands. "Right-o! Shall we see the next one then?"_ _

__

__*** They take to eating their lunch outside by the creek every day, at the hour with the highest sun. It's logical, really, Rey declares, to air naked in the shade to avoid the worst heat of the day. And if they dip in the creek before getting re-dressed they'll be cooler and work harder in the afternoon._ _

__"In the Mediterranean they call it _siesta_ ," she informs Ben primly. He nods at her, returning his attention (and his mouth) to her breasts._ _

__It might make logical sense, but it feels extremely decadent to Rey. She's never had so much leisure time in her life, though really they usually confine their lunch (and other activities) to an hour or so. Often they are caught up in slow fondling and caresses, half-drunk on the heat. Ben likes nothing more than to doze with her nipple in his mouth, while Rey is endlessly fascinated with the skin holding his bollocks, which changes form and texture so drastically she could gaze at it for hours. She likes to cup him in her hand and suck little kisses along his sack._ _

__She is forever wet, whether she surrenders to self-abuse or Ben laps prettily at the junction of her thighs. He likes to keep her on edge, working her up before withdrawing his fingers from her cunny, dancing them instead along her arms and belly, palming the globes of her bottom. Eventually he'll take her, spooned together and thrusting lazily between her legs, or make her sit and bounce on his cock while he grips her hips. Sometimes he draws out the teasing so long she wants to scream at him, and then he laughs and flips her over and takes her hard from behind, like an animal._ _

__One afternoon he draws it out especially long, focusing his tongue on her tits and alternating petting her wet little clitoris and hooking a huge finger into her cunt, though it's never enough to reach her crisis. He has her hand wrapped around the head of his cock, playing idly with his foreskin, and Rey hums with the lazy pleasure of it. She's reluctant to move, but she feels a growing pressure in her lower belly and so lifts his hand away from her, standing to walk to the shallows of the creek._ _

__"Where're you going?" He sits up, watching her wade into the water._ _

__"I have to relieve myself," she says matter of factly. It's not like he doesn't watch her piss every night in the chamber pot._ _

__He stills for a moment before standing and wading in after her, grabbing her up in his arms and dropping his hand to push two fingers into her once more._ _

__" _Ah_ , Papa, _what_ –" Rey's legs start to shake as he finds her clitoris again, timing his ministrations with the thrusting of his fingers. _ _

__"Go on, then, sweetheart," he growls into her hair. He drops his other hand to press on her lower abdomen, just over her bladder. "Relieve yourself."_ _

__Rey's eyes roll back as she feels herself release with a sharp, violent pleasure, the sudden scalding heat contrasting with the frigid water of the creek. It gushes over Ben's hand and down her thigh, and her legs seize as she reaches her crisis with a silent shriek._ _

__Ben holds her up as she spasms wildly in his arms, working her through it before she collapses, completely limp, against him._ _

__"Feel better, sweetheart?"_ _

__She nods faintly, and he dips them both gently in the rushing water before returning to shore. ***_ _

__

__Rey wakes to sunlight streaming into the shanty. She sits up groggily, listening to the hammering on the house that has become a constant symphony. It must be very late, if Ben has already milked the cows and set to work._ _

__She shakes her head as if to clear it and starts to dress. There's bread to be baked, cheese to set, she ought to mend Ben's shirt that snagged on a nail–_ _

__The fog hovers over her the whole morning. She apologizes when Ben comes in for lunch; the bread's still not quite finished and he'll have to wait for her to pack the picnic._ _

__"S'alright," he says, frowning at her. "Thought you could use the sleep, seemed awful spent last night."_ _

__They make their way to the creek, and Rey thinks she could doze off right away, but she does her best to eat some of the fresh bread and a bit of hard salami. Ben watches her closely. She waves him off and he sighs, gnawing on his own chunk of bread._ _

__She closes her eyes, though she only woke up two hours earlier, reclining on the blanket still fully dressed. Ben nuzzles into her neck, and she plays a bit with his hair. He cups her breast gently, like always, but Rey hisses, batting him away._ _

__"They're sore," she tells him._ _

__He looks incredibly guilty._ _

__"I've been too rough with you–"_ _

__"No, Papa," she says drowsily. "I liked it."_ _

__She closes her eyes again, feeling like she could drift off. The air is so still, heavy. Hardly a breeze rustles the trees overhead. Even the cicadas are quiet._ _

__It's almost like the whole prairie is holding its breath._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Dubious consent all 'round. Ben makes Rey masturbate while he fingers her vaginally and anally; some Greek myth inspired role-play; somnophilia-lite (Ben has sex with half-asleep Rey without asking); Ben fingers Rey while forcing her to pee. Rey enjoys everything. All naked, outdoor sex but they're in the middle of nowhere so not tagging public sex. Mention of morbid picnicking in cemeteries. Talk of marriage.**
> 
> If you want to skip any of the sex scenes, I have marked them with asterisks at the beginning and end; * - anal fingering scene, ** - somnophilia scene, *** - water sports scene. Rest assured they contribute nothing to the plot.
> 
> Their house is in the [Queen Anne Style](https://www.wentworthstudio.com/historic-styles/queen-anne/) which was just becoming popular in 1881; here are the [plans](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/78390849736303409/?nic_v2=1aDDqgwQI). I don't know exactly how accurate the image is, but the plans indicate that the house would cost $4,500 to build, which is roughly $115,000 today. Ben is using the [lath and plaster](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lath_and_plaster) method to finish the interior walls; this was largely replaced by drywall in the early 20th century, at least in the United States. The insulation materials of straw and waste paper are period accurate.
> 
> There was a fad for [ picnicking in cemeteries](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/picnic-in-cemeteries-america) around this time. Red Cloud has a very tiny cemetery, but I feel like they still might have felt the effects of the [rural cemetery movement](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rural_cemetery) which gave us gorgeous haunts like the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris and Mount Auburn cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Anyhoo, I'm a big fan of cemeteries; I went on a bike-camping trip in New Hampshire a week and a half ago and made my long-suffering roommates stop at every little graveyard we passed along the way, it was awesome. All this is to say 👏 bring 👏 back 👏 picnicking 👏 in 👏 cemeteries 👏 👏 👏 
> 
> This was kind of an experimental chapter for me, smut-wise. Not sure I succeeded but I have bigger and better things to write in the future, so meh, posting it.
> 
> Hope you all are doing well!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Pregnancy and abortion. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

The sun hangs low on the horizon as they drive to church one fine Sunday. The morning is still crisp and cool, the heat of July held as if aloft, threatening to descend on the day like the sword of Damocles. 

Rey is grateful for the relief, temporary though it may be. The heat makes her queasy, and she dreads the wagon ride back, in the full glare of the midday sun. She can't remember being this particular ever before, though the city held a different sort of heat, oppressive and smoggy, radiating not only from the sun in the sky but from the pavement and the bricks in the buildings themselves. 

Ben clears his throat in the wagon seat next to her, lost in his thoughts; when he believes himself to be unobserved he's prone to clenching his jaw, pursing his lips and shaking his head minutely, as if engaged in an imagined conversation. Rey smiles fondly at him, then quickly turns to stare fixedly at the horizon, taking measured breaths and trying to quell a sudden bit of motion-sickness.

Rose finds Rey as soon as they walk in; she chatters on about the new sewing machine, but Rey has a hard time paying attention. There's a pot of coffee someone's brought and set on a corner table in the church; the smell is overwhelming.

"Sorry," Rey tells her; her ears are ringing a little as she dashes out the side door and doubles over to lose her breakfast onto the pretty pine boards of the church exterior.

_What is the matter?_ she wonders, trying to catch her breath, tears streaming out of her eyes. Was she ill? Certainly she'd felt awfully low lately. 

She feels a presence behind her and half turns in her crouched stance, expecting to see Rose. But it's Mrs. Syndulla standing there, with a tin cup full of water and a damp rag, which she offers to Rey to wipe her face.

"Thank you," Rey says hoarsely. 

Mrs. Syndulla just nods, watching Rey with that calculating look of hers. She offers her the cup and Rey takes it gratefully, taking small sips and breathing deeply, dreading going back into the closed room with the strong coffee smell. 

"We can listen from here," Mrs. Syndulla says. Rey nods and leans heavily against the door frame while Pastor Dameron starts his sermon. They're behind the rows of pews and Rey hopes most of the parishioners haven't noticed, though she can see Ben scanning the room for her; she gives a small wave when he turns to catch sight of her at the door, shaking her head at his questioning look.

The ringing in her ears is abated slightly, but the tinny echo distracts her from Pastor Dameron's words. He gestures grandly, then thumps his fist; Rey squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself not to succumb to the rising nausea once more.

"Oughta cut the slough grass soon," Ben tells her, stroking her hair, her head resting on his chest. He has his arm behind his own head, gazing at the trees above them, a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth; it tickles Rey's neck sometimes when it dips too low.

"I can help," she tells him. 

"Alright," he says, though there's a slight note of skepticism that Rey tries not to rankle at. 

They're naked as ever on the cool grass, basking in the shade after their lunch, though Rey can't quite gather the same interest in some of their more sinful activities. Ben hasn't tried to touch her breasts since she told him they hurt, and for this she is grateful; their soreness has continued unabated, and she's starting to wonder what could possibly have happened to them.

There's a pause, and Ben's hand stills in her hair. "Doctor's stopping through town next week."

"Mm," Rey replies. Ben's chest is broad and pillowy and so comfortable she wants to lie here forever. 

"Reckon maybe you oughta see him."

"Mm-kay," she mumbles, and then, "Why?"

"Dunno, sweetheart." Ben's started stroking her hair again. "Only you seem awful tired lately…"

Ben's voice trails away and the faint sound of hoofbeats reaches them. 

It takes a moment for Rey to register the sound, out of place as it is; people hardly ever come to see them, and usually they've arranged it beforehand. But the hoofbeats grow louder and louder until they're just on the other side of the creek.

Ben sits up suddenly, knocking her to the side. 

"Damn," he says. "Damn, damn, damn."

He hurries to pull his trousers on. Rey pauses for a horrible second, and then scrambles for her dress, pulling it over her head without bothering to put her combinations and corset on first. 

It doesn't matter, because Pastor Dameron rounds the corner a moment later on his horse, his expression morphing into a shock so extreme as to be almost comical. 

They've gotten so complacent the last few months, Rey reflects while Ben stares at the Pastor in mute horror. She's forgotten they were doing anything wrong.

The silence hangs suspended for a moment, and then it falls with the force of a bomb.

"SOLO!" The Pastor's face is quickly purpling. "WHAT is going– I cannot BELIEVE–"

"Dameron, I can expl–" Ben starts, but the Pastor barrels over him, working himself into a tizzy.

"–what sort of BEHAVIOR this is, for a CHRISTIAN, to– to take ADVANTAGE of an INNOCENT–"

Rey reflects numbly on their continued state of undress: Ben still fully shirtless, and her dress unbuttoned down to her breast; she subtly tries to do herself up again. 

Pastor Dameron has descended from his horse and is pacing back and forth in front of them.

"–thought Mrs. Syndulla couldn't POSSIBLY be correct, told her it was simply INCONCEIVABLE that Miss Rey could be with child, and here I am, made a FOOL–"

"What–?" Ben tries to cut in, but the Pastor has turned to Rey.

"Go and pack some things," he says roughly. "You'll come and stay with us."

"What?" Rey finds her voice. "No, I don't want–"

"Rey, you have been _violated_ by this man, surely you must wish to leave this place–"

"No, no, that's not–"

"He's hurting you! You must see this!"

"He's _hurting_ m–?" She's worked herself into her own fury now, lobbing her next remark fiercely. "The same way you're hurting Finn?!"

Pastor Dameron reels back as though hit. He has an odd mix of emotions on his face; anger and indignation, yes, but also– fear? He regards her warily, as though considering an opponent with an unexpected arsenal, then makes a sudden about-face and steps back up onto his horse.

"I cannot help you if you do not wish it," he says to Rey shortly, ignoring Ben entirely. "I'll pray for you. And for the babe." He nudges his horse into a canter and disappears around the bend in the creek. 

They stand in silence, watching the spot where he vanished from view. 

Rey's mind is racing. Mrs. Syndulla thought she was with child? Could that explain her illness as of late? 

She looks over to Ben and he stares back at her with a forlorn sort of expression, his eyes liquid and burning. "Rey–" he begins hoarsely. He reaches for her, catching her up in his arms and holding her gingerly. "Oh, sweetheart. Lord Almighty, I'm so, so sorry."

He's sorry? She allows herself to be held, trying to process everything. Pastor Dameron's face as he rode away, Mrs. Syndulla's suspicions, Ben's continued apologies, dripping with self-loathing. She drops her hand to her belly, bare underneath her dress. Could it really be? A baby?

She buries her face in Ben's shoulder. A _baby_.

Ben's up and at work before the sun, and seems distracted when Rey comes to offer him some breakfast. He takes the proffered bread and butter and swigs the tin cup full of fresh milk, but avoids her eye and offers only a half-hearted _Thanks_ before turning and raising his hammer to a board once more. 

Rey feels a stab of unease. What is he thinking? He's said so little since yesterday.

She busies herself with chores in the barn, petting M'lady and Delilah. Would a baby come like M'lady's calf had? Slimy, with feet dangling from her cunt before it emerged into the world? She's never spent much time around women in the family way before; she's not sure what to expect.

She emerges into the yard, intent upon heating some water to start the laundry, and finds Mrs. Dameron, sitting high atop her wagon seat, pulling her horses to a stop in front of the barn. She's alone.

"Hello," Rey mumbles, ducking her head awkwardly. She glances toward the house to see if Ben has noticed her arrival. He has, pausing on the ladder at a second story window to watch the yard below, but he only duffs his hat at her and returns to his hammering.

"I was hoping we might speak," Mrs. Dameron says. "Just the two of us."

"Alright," Rey says. She leads her into the shanty, glad that she tidied up after breakfast, but a little embarrassed by its simplicity; it's a far cry from the Damerons' farmhouse. Mrs. Dameron's eyes linger on the lone bed in the corner, made up nicely with the pretty quilt, and Rey feels her face grow hot. Everyone will know soon, how loose she's been, how slatternly. It's not that she's ever considered herself an example of feminine purity and goodness, but, somehow, the Damerons had; it feels awful to prove them wrong.

She fetches Mrs. Dameron some bread and jam, and some more of the fresh milk. They sit at the small table, which is scrubbed and clean. The thin bracelet woven from Zorii's hair dangles from Mrs. Dameron's wrist when she raises her cup to take a sip. Rey wonders who is watching Temiri. She feels a stab of guilt, for drawing Mrs. Dameron away from her family when they've been through so much in the last few months.

Mrs. Dameron considers her over her cup.

"I'm sorry about Poe," she says. "He overreacted a little, I imagine. But we just want to help you, Rey."

Rey ducks her head, a bit surprised at the apology. She wonders what Pastor Dameron told her about Rey's accusatory closing line, and feels another stab of guilt; she'd broken her own promise to herself, about taking the secret of Pastor Dameron and Finn to her grave. 

"It's okay," she mumbles.

Mrs. Dameron reaches across the table to take her hand. 

"Is it– possible? For you to be with child?"

Rey nods slowly. It's her own fault, too; she's the one that wanted to do away with the sheath. "We were trying to be careful–" she begins.

"You were?" Mrs. Dameron's eyebrows rise on her forehead. 

"We had a sheath," she whispers miserably. "But we stopped…" Mrs. Dameron's eyebrows have disappeared under her fringe. "...using it."

" _Well_." Mrs. Dameron takes a deep breath; it seems like she's trying to maintain her outward projection of calm. "No matter now, I suppose. Do you remember when you last bled?"

Rey shakes her head, blushing. "It's only happened a few times." More now that she's gotten enough to eat every day, but it's still irregular, and the flow is rather light. She simply washes her petticoats of the stains later, unlike Rose, who had whispered to her once about 'being on the rag' and laughed out loud when Rey asked what she meant. 

"We can bring the blood back on," Mrs. Dameron tells her. "If you like."

Rey frowns. "What do you mean?"

"There are herbs… Mrs. Kanata grows them in her garden, she'll know how to do it."

"I don't understand…"

Mrs. Dameron squeezes her hand. "You don't have to have a baby, Rey," she says in a low voice, gazing searchingly at her, "if you don't want to."

"Oh," Rey says faintly.

Mrs. Dameron sits back to consider her again. 

"I found myself in the family way when I was younger than you are now," she says, a faraway look in her eye. "Just fourteen. My father had a hired man and… well, it was a nasty business. He told everyone I'd seduced him, that I'd wanted to trap him into marriage."

Rey stares at her, feeling like she'd been doused in cold water.

"My father was ready to cast me out, said I'd brought shame on the family. I don't know what I would have done. Destitute, alone, and with a baby on the way." She shakes her head. "I would have been utterly ruined; destined to be a prostitute. Dead, maybe."

"What did you do?" Rey asks quietly. 

"Poe was in town selling some family land, and he offered to marry me. He wanted to become a preacher and travel the frontier and save souls." She smiles wryly. "I'm sure I was quite the pathetic little creature."

"And you… didn't have the baby?" Rey assumes that's where the story must be going. In any case, Mrs. Dameron isn't _so_ young; certainly she didn't have Shara when she was fourteen.

"No," Mrs. Dameron says fiercely, "I didn't have that baby. We stayed with the man Poe sold his land to for a few months after we got married, went by the name of Beckett. His wife, Val– she helped me bring on my blood, took care of me, so I didn't have to carry that monster's seed in me any longer. More than my own flesh and blood ever did for me."

Rey feels doubly terrible for what she said to Pastor Dameron; at first glance her situation isn't so different than his wife's had been. Mrs. Dameron looks her in the eye with a fierce expression.

"I didn't have that baby, Rey, and _you don't have to have this one_." She takes her hand again; Rey can feel her eyes welling up, a knot forming in her throat. "You have friends here, we'll help you. You can come stay with us, go to school in the fall like you'd planned."

How awful, that they're so ready to jump to her defense, when she is not a victim. And Ben! So readily demonized, and yet she is as culpable as he. When they learn of her willingness, her lust, they'll spurn her for a whore, and yet how can she leave Ben to suffer their judgment–?

"He didn't–" she chokes out, muted by the thickness in her throat. "He didn't rape me."

She wipes her eyes messily with the back of her hand. 

"I wanted it," she says hoarsely through the tears. "All of it."

Mrs. Dameron waits for her to calm down, and Rey registers that she's still holding her hand, at the very least.

"I've only known Ben Solo to be an honorable man," she says, after a brief silence punctuated only by Rey's hiccuping. "He's helped our little town more times than I could count, and our family too. But none of that would matter if he was hurting you."

"He's not, though," Rey says desperately. "He said he wants to marry me, once I'm done with school, that we'll live in the house he's building, and–" She's certain she sounds deluded, saying these things out loud, but she's not sure how else to get Mrs. Dameron to understand. "He loves me. And I love him, too." The tears streak down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I'm not worthy of your friendship, or your protection. I'm guilty of the sin of lust, and–"

"Only God can judge us for our sins, Rey," Mrs. Dameron says kindly. "And you're certainly deserving of our friendship. You don't have to make a decision right away. Just think on it, alright?"

Rey nods miserably and stands to show her out the door. Mrs. Dameron turns to her at the threshold and catches her into a hug. It's soft, maternal, and Rey aches more than ever for her own mother, lost to time and circumstance. 

"I didn't tell you the nice part of that story," Mrs. Dameron says as she pulls away. 

"What is it?" Rey asks, looking at the ground. They make their way slowly across the yard to the Damerons' wagon. Rey's certain that Ben is watching them; she wonders what he thinks they talked about.

"We found Rosie a year later, in San Francisco," Mrs. Dameron says, smiling. "She saved me, perfect little thing that she was. Mended my broken heart and crumpled soul. And I got to raise a baby that I chose. One that I wanted."

Rey cracks a small smile in response, imagining a tiny Rose, perhaps with her characteristic expression offering only the finest of toddler judgment. 

"Take care, Rey," she tells her, jumping up into the wagon seat. "And just know, you'll always find help with us if you need it." She waves at Ben, who doffs his hat at her again, and clucks at the horses. The wagon creaks out of the yard and Rey watches her go before chancing a glance back at Ben. 

He's already gone back to hammering.

Ben is a little jerky at supper; he knocks a boat of gravy to the ground and insists on cleaning it up himself, dragging a rag through the muck so ineffectively that Rey is forced to bat him out of the way lest he work it into the floorboards permanently. 

"No, you shouldn't be– you oughta rest–" he says, watching her helplessly.

"I'm fine," she tells him, straightening up again. It's mostly true; her nausea isn't so bad, though it's persistent. She's adjusting to the fatigue.

"What'd Kaydel want?" He asks it in a rush, like he won't get the nerve up to ask again.

She shrugs, equally helpless. "She told me I could bring my blood back on," she says. "If I wanted to."

Ben clenches his jaw, staring at the cracks in the table.

"Expect they'd want you to go live with them, in that case," he says, still not looking at her. 

"Yes," Rey says, nodding slowly. Mrs. Dameron had been surprisingly understanding, but she doubts they'll be able to live together, unmarried, much longer.

"S'pose you oughta," Ben mumbles, so low she can barely hear it. 

"You want me to?" Rey's throat hurts again; drat this dreadful teariness.

He shrugs, but his jaw is as tight as ever. "Dameron's right. I haven't been a good… guardian… to you. Or a good Christian." He blinks rapidly, and she can see his eyes are glossy. "Certainly not a good father."

Rey's heart feels like it's breaking, only it's not for herself, because she can follow his logic and it's landed on the worst conclusion.

"Ben," she says desperately. "You're not my father." 

He nods tightly, hunching his shoulders and she can see a single drop on the edge of his nose. 

"But you don't– " Her voice breaks a little. "Would you– want… a– a baby?"

She thought he did; at least, he said he wanted to marry her, and didn't babies usually come along with marriage? But maybe he wouldn't want this one, overshadowed by scandal as it is. 

_He might not want you either_ , a horrible voice whispers in her head. _You're a ruined woman now._

"Just– I want what's best for you, sweetheart." He stares resolutely at the floorboards. She gets the sense he's choosing his words carefully. "I want whatever you want."

What does she want? She thinks about Lincoln, and the excitement of college, and feels a pang for the loss of them. But then she thinks of staying here on the farm, with the new house, with Ben by her side and a baby at her breast, and… it just doesn't compare. She wants it. As badly as she's wanted anything. More.

"I–" Her words are all jumbled in her mouth. "I want–" She blinks tears out of her eyes, and can only manage a whisper. "Please, can't we keep it?"

He looks up at her, finally, but she barrels on, hiccuping teary breaths between her words. 

"I know it's not– I know I was supposed to go to school, and– the house isn't done, but– it wouldn't be so ba– I mean, only if you still want to marry– if you don't mind that I'm– that I'm ruined–"

Ben tugs her into his lap and she succumbs to her sobs, burying her face in his neck. He rubs his hand down her back soothingly, stroking her hair with the other. 

"Nothin' could ruin you," he tells her in a quiet voice, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "I'd marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted." He's quiet for a moment while she catches her breath. 

"I'm a selfish man," he begins again solemnly. "Try not to be, but damn if you don't tempt me somethin' fierce. I can't get enough of you, Rey. Just want more and more. Every part of you, all to myself."

He sighs heavily, caressing her hair.

"You oughta go stay with the Damerons, and– and let your blood come down again, and go off to school, 'cause I clearly ain't got your best interests at heart. But damn if I don't wanna keep you here with me, and see you get round with our child, and fill up all the rooms in that house."

Rey sits slowly up in his lap. His eyes are puffy and red when she looks at his face, and she knows hers must look the same. 

"You– you want it?"

"'Course I want it, sweetheart." He smiles sadly at her, brushing a curl out of her face, letting his hand come to rest at the nape of her neck. She stares at him, and it's almost blinding.

"Let's keep it," she says in a rush, but as firmly as she's ever uttered anything. "Ben, I want to keep it."

He smiles at her, a real smile, his eyes glittering again with unshed tears, and it _is_ blinding. She cups his cheek, and presses her lips to his. He deepens the kiss, palming the back of her head gently with his huge, open hand. When he pulls back, he skims down her body until he's at her belly, hesitantly pressing his fingers to her abdomen. She moves to cover his hand with hers, feeling the warmth soak through her bodice, cradling the spot where their child will grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Rey is a YOUTH in CRISIS. Discussion of unplanned pregnancy and abortion; Rey does not end up choosing to abort, but Kaydel shares a story of an abortion she had at fourteen, after she was abused by an older man. Lots of emotions and some yelling. Poe in capslock.**
> 
> Well, the day has come, it is time for an abridged [history of abortion in the United States](https://tinyurl.com/o88fclh). I imagine some of you saw this coming, but I bet you didn't see me lead with an impassioned defense of the Puritans.   
> Abortion before "quickening", or when the fetus could be felt to kick (between 14 and 26 weeks), was perfectly legal and common in early New England; it was done using herbal abortifacients like pennyroyal and tansy, and was generally not considered to have any ethical or religious implications. Puritan women actually had more legal rights than those in England during this period; they could legally seek divorce from their husbands and were generally better protected from abuse by church doctrine and the courts. Despite our understanding of Puritans as a tightly-laced sort of people, about 40% of first borns were born early or completely out of wedlock; the misrepresentation, I think, largely stems from the very _Victorian_ novel _The Scarlet Letter_ , which perhaps better reflects 19th century mores. (If you're interested in reading more about Puritan gender dynamics, I'd highly recommend [Good Wives](https://tinyurl.com/yxnw5nen), by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.)
> 
> The movement to outlaw abortion gained way in the mid-19th century, and is a complicated story of the professionalization of medicine, a better understanding of fetal development, and a growing fear of ethnic replacement (pro-natalism has _always_ gone hand-in-hand with white supremacy.) There were still abortifacient medicines sold commercially during this period, which euphemistically promised to "unblock" menses, and enforcement of the new laws (which existed in every state by 1910) was difficult, as women could grow abortifacients in their own gardens, as Maz clearly has been. Early feminists were largely [anti-abortion](https://tinyurl.com/yyp8vzqb), though many argued essentially that high rates of marital rape were forcing women to seek abortions. 
> 
> As usual, the morality in this story is probably highly anachronistic, but I want to defend a few points. First, Kaydel first speaks euphemistically (and in a more period-accurate way), referring to "bringing on the blood," before pretty openly talking about ending pregnancy. I imagine this is largely for Rey's benefit, as speaking too euphemistically wouldn't have gotten the point across. Second, she and Maz (and to a lesser extent Mrs. Syndulla and Poe) seem pretty chill about the idea of abortion, despite the contemporary movement to outlaw it; I'm going to say that Kaydel's personal experience informs this a little, but also that it's estimated that [20-25% of pregnancies](https://tinyurl.com/yyp8vzqb) at this time were ended by abortion, so it's not exactly uncommon. As for the premarital sex, etc. being readily excused, I made that up and can only point once again at the confusing morals of the American West during this period. I will point out that Kaydel is for sure bothered by the use of a sheath, as they were associated with brothels and used mainly to prevent STI's.
> 
> Also, [Victorian menstruation](https://tinyurl.com/y45tgz6a)! Free-bleeding was a thing! You had to hold up your pad or rag or whatever with [suspenders](https://tinyurl.com/y3jnl9yc) because there was a giant split in your underwear! It's surprisingly difficult to find info on this topic, as my girl [Karolina](https://tinyurl.com/yxjzeaqy) will tell you (is it becoming obvious that I spend all my free time on costuming YouTube?) 
> 
> I want to shout out my home state of Colorado for defeating a [22-week abortion ban](https://tinyurl.com/y5b4528l) last Tuesday, which is actually a big deal nationally since a lot of people travel there for third trimester abortions; another shout out to the abortion rights protesters in [Poland](https://tinyurl.com/y2gsbm63). If you're able, maybe consider donating to [abortion](https://yellowhammerfund.org/) [funds](https://www.arc-southeast.org/) in the deep South, which can make or break someone [gaining access](https://tinyurl.com/yysr3mbs) to their constitutional right to abortion care.
> 
> Please take care of yourselves. I know this has been a stressful time. Sending you all lots of warmth and love.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.

Rey dresses in her smartest outfit– the traveling suit that Rose made over for her, newly washed and pressed. She does her hair up carefully in a nice chignon, curling her fringe so it frames her face. Her dragonfly necklace sits prettily in the hollow of her throat.

Ben smiles softly at her when she emerges from the claim shanty. He's wearing his Sunday suit and his hair and whiskers are neatly trimmed and combed. 

"Ready?"

She nods, stepping up into the wagon and swallowing her nerves. 

"Ready."

She gazes out at the horizon as they trundle along the wagon track. The prairie isn't flat, not by a longshot. It has hollows and hills, dips where different shades of grass peek through. Some stalks shine bright, like gold, shimmering against the expanse of green while dark thickets of trees trace the line of the creek as it winds into the distance. And the sky– so large it's breathtaking, the giant, billowy clouds stretching miles above them and around them, drifting lazily so Rey cranes her neck to watch them go by.

"Dameron'll see sense," Ben murmurs, so quietly that Rey half-suspects he's reassuring himself. 

"He will," she says, squeezing his hand soothingly; he laces his fingers through hers, holding the reins with his left hand. She's not really certain whether or not Pastor Dameron will "see sense," but he can't let them go unmarried, not with her in her condition.

No, Rey's not worried about the Pastor. She's worried about Rose.

She might already know; Pastor Dameron is not a quiet man, and presumably the Damerons had more than one discussion about the situation. How can Rey possibly explain it to her? 

What if the Damerons no longer want her to associate with their daughter at all?

Rey grasps Ben's hand tighter when they round the bend to the Damerons' homestead. Finn is in the yard, fiddling with one of the wheels on their wagon, but he straightens when they come into view, wiping his hands on a rag. 

"Howdy," he calls, but there's a hesitance in his voice, so unlike Finn. Had Pastor Dameron told him of Rey's accusation? He fidgets with the cloth. "Shall I fetch the Pastor–?"

But there's no need. Pastor Dameron pushes the screen door open onto the front porch, letting it swing shut behind him with a resounding bang. He crosses his arms.

"Solo," he says coldly.

"Dameron," Ben says, stiff in the wagon seat. He squeezes Rey's hand again and she can feel the slightest tremor in his fingers. "We'd like you to marry us."

Pastor Dameron uncrosses and recrosses his arms, tighter this time, if that were possible. He looks at Rey.

"This is really what you want?"

She swallows. "Yes." Her voice is high and clear in the mid-morning breeze. "It really is."

He shakes his head, letting his arms fall to his sides and pulls open the door once more. "Give me a minute," he mutters, disappearing into the house.

Rey's not sure what they ought to do. Stay seated in the wagon? Would he marry them without them ever getting out? She supposes it'd be a fitting wedding, all mixed up to match their backwards courtship.

"Congratulations," Finn offers, grinning at them. 

"Thanks, Finn," Rey smiles back tentatively. She wants to ask after Rose, but isn't sure exactly how. "How is–?"

"Rey!" The screen door swings open and shut again, and then Rose is there, lifting her skirts to better run down the steps to the wagon. She falters to a stop in front of them, her hands coming up to smack her own forehead, mussing her fringe so she looks quite disheveled. "You're getting _married_?!"

"Rosie–" Finn puts his hand soothingly on her shoulder but she shakes him off.

"I don't understand– I mean, how can you possibly–? You didn't even tell me!" Her voice is shrill but there's a genuine layer of hurt underneath that makes a lump rise in Rey's throat.

"Rose–" she says helplessly.

"Why don't you go and talk to her," Ben tells her quietly. "I oughta deal with the horses anyhow."

Rey nods and steps carefully down from the wagon seat. Rose grasps her hand firmly and marches her away beyond the barn. They have a good view of the near pasture and the wheat field further out.

Rose turns to her, lips pursed.

"Rose–" Rey tries again, but Rose cuts her off.

"How can you marry him?" She hisses, apparently deciding now to keep her voice down. "He's your _father_."

"No, he isn't," Rey says fiercely. She is at least prepared on this point. "I don't _have_ a father."

But Rose bats this explanation away. 

"It's the same as if me and Pa–" She looks too disgusted to finish the thought.

"It isn't the same, Rose!" Rey's voice spirals hotly. "You've had years and years with your parents. I've had no one! Not a soul, until I came here. And then I had Ben, and– and he's been so caring and kind and– and everything a husband ought to be!"

Rose glares at the dirt, kicking at it a bit with her boot.

"The timing isn't…" Rey tries to choose her words carefully, wondering just how much Rose knows, whether she ought to leave her some chaste sensibilities, "...what we planned. But I love him, and I want to be his wife. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you, only we just found out–"

Rose glances at her midsection and Rey thinks she likely knows enough. She drops her hand to her belly, her stomach sinking, ready to confess that yes, she did know it was a sin, engaging in congress outside the marriage bed. She ought to apologize, for associating Rose– for associating the whole family– with a Jezebel, a _whore_ –

"You're really–" Rose stares at Rey's hand, before looking away and glancing guiltily back toward the house, dropping her voice low. "Does it hurt? Putting a baby inside you, I mean."

Rey laughs loudly in shock; it isn't at all what she expected Rose to say. "No," she says. "It's– well..." she too throws a look over her shoulder. "It's awfully nice, really."

"And he doesn't... not like Mr. Hux tried to…?" Rose grasps her hand anxiously.

"No, Rose," she whispers sadly. "Nothing like that."

Rose sighs as if in relief, dropping her hand and looking her up and down critically, frowning as she takes her in.

"Oh Rey, you can't be married wearing _that_."

Rey squawks. "I– what? You sewed it!"

"As a _traveling suit_. Not a wedding gown. No, that won't do at _all_."

She grasps Rey's hand once more, tugging her toward the house, past Ben and Finn, who are brushing down the horses, and through the front door. 

The parlor has been converted to a workshop, and Rey's mind reels trying to take it all in, awash with relief as she is that Rose seems to have forgiven her her lapse in moral judgment. There are bolts of cloth, ribbons and trimmings, buttons– it's like the whole of the General Store stock in fabric and other sartorial goods have spilled out over the Damerons' fine sofas and rugs. And there, amongst it all, is the gleaming black and gold sewing machine, SINGER delicately inlaid across the top next to the beautiful golden hand crank.

"Oh, _Rose_ ," Rey breathes.

"Mrs. Lintra was ever so pleased with how her dresses came out, and she has two sisters, back in Chicago, you know, but they're coming for a visit and so she wanted dresses for all of them. They'll have to be fitted when they arrive, but I've done up the basic forms– and oh, Rey, _this_ would be a much better wedding gown, don't you think?" She holds up a champagne colored cuirass bodice and a ruffled golden skirt; the end trails into a waterfall train, longer than any Rey has had occasion to wear. "I could hem it to fit you, just for today. They don't come for another two weeks, so it'd be no bother to remake it. And I know it's not white, but–"

"Maybe that's for the best," Rey says with a small, self-deprecating grin. "Are you sure, Rose? This seems like an awful lot of trouble…"

"Not at all," Rose says, waving her hand airily. "Won't take me an hour."

She bustles out of the room and bossily calls to the men in the yard, telling them that they'll need to wait a bit longer.

Mrs. Dameron comes into the parlor to help, propping Temiri between bolts of fabric (and far away from any buttons.) Rey smiles nervously at her while she holds the bodice in place and Rose pins. After the events of yesterday, she can't help but see Mrs. Dameron in a new light. She desperately wants to reassure her that she's sure of her decision, but can't think of a way to do so with Rose in the room. In any case, Mrs. Dameron does not seem to require additional explanation; she smiles calmly back at Rey, murmuring to Rose about a bit of puckering in the hem.

Rose is good to her word, and it seems like no time at all before Rey is buttoned into the gown, smoothing the lovely satin skirts. It's the finest thing she's ever worn.

"You look so beautiful," Mrs. Dameron tells her, arranging her curled fringe so it hangs just so. "I only wish we had a veil for you."

"It's alright," Rey blushes. "This is more than I had imagined anyway."

Rose helps her with the train and guides her through the house to the back door, which opens not on the yard, with the dust and dirt, but rather onto the near pasture, with its clean prairie grass. Mrs. Dameron follows them with Kes and Temiri, and Shara runs to fetch the men from the front.

Pastor Dameron carries a Bible with him, a sour expression on his face, but even he lights up when he sees Rey in her finery. Finn gives an appreciative whistle. 

Ben's expression is a riot of emotions as he rounds the corner of the house to see her– pride and happiness and guilt and elation. He seems to be on the verge of weeping again, for the third time in as many days, and Rey swallows her own tears, determined to at least make it through the ceremony.

He draws even with her, taking in her dress before holding out a little posy of wildflowers. 

"Reckon you need a bouquet," he says. 

"Thank you, Papa," she says quietly, smiling and taking the flowers.

"Rose just… gifted you a dress?" 

"She's making it for Mrs. Lintra's sister," she whispers to him. "I'm only borrowing it."

He nods, frowning slightly, and takes her arm in his as they face the Pastor. 

"I suppose we ought to start," Pastor Dameron sighs heavily, opening his Bible and tracing the thin page with his fingertip. "In Romans 12 we read: 'Love must be sincere... Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord's people who are in need.'"

He fixes them with a stern look.

"In this we are reminded that we have duties in love. We are beholden to each other, to all Christians, indeed to all the Lord's people, when we love. Love is not in service of the flesh–" Finn clears his throat a bit noisily behind them "–but it is in service of the _community_. It is in service of the _Lord_. When we honor another above ourselves, we learn to honor all others above ourselves. Marriage, thus, is a bedrock of a good and Christian society. Love is essential, if indeed it is sincere."

Rey does her best to nod along to what Pastor Dameron is saying, and after another long look at the two of them he shakes his head.

"I suppose I shall skip asking who gives this woman to be wed," he says acerbically. "Do you have a ring?"

_Oh no_ , Rey panics a little, and it seems such a silly thing, after everything, but they haven't got a _ring_ –

"I do," Ben says, and he holds it out to her, a cluster of irregularly shaped gemstones along a band; Rey's never seen anything like it. She offers her hand and he slides it on her finger. It fits snugly against her knuckle.

"Good," Pastor Dameron says. "Now, then. Do you, Reyna Sands, in the presence of God and these your friends, take this man to be your husband, and promise with Divine assistance to be unto him a loving and faithful wife, for as long as you both shall live?"

"Yes," Rey says.

"And do you, Ben Solo, in the presence of God and these your friends, take this woman to be your wife, and promise with Divine assistance to be unto her a loving and faithful husband, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Ben intones. 

"I then pronounce you married in the eyes of the Lord."

Rey smiles at Ben hesitantly, glancing sideways at the Pastor. Were they meant to kiss? He hasn't indicated as such, and she's never been to a wedding before, but she thought…

Ben leans down and tilts her chin toward up with his hand, pressing his lips chastely to hers. He pulls away, positively beaming and she thinks there might be some wateriness in his eyes again. And, oh, drat, in hers as well–

The others move forward to congratulate them but Rey can hardly see through her veil of happy tears. She feels Rose's arms clasp around her neck, and then Finn's hand thump her on the back. Mrs. Dameron wraps her in a warm hug and Rey sobs into her blouse. She can't quite believe it, little orphan Rey, _married_.

Ben catches her up in his arms again, his hand possessively around her waist while he presses a kiss to the top of her head. It feels so nice, to be open and affectionate, not hiding anymore…

"We ought to have a wedding breakfast," Mrs. Dameron says. "Come along, Rosie, we can whip up a thing or two…"

Ben helps move the long table out to the pasture, and Rey minds Kes and Temiri, careful of the fine, borrowed gown. Rose and Mrs. Dameron and Shara weave in and out of the house, holding dishes loaded down with cold ham and greens, rolls and butter, tomatoes and cucumbers and radishes, smoked fish with store bought crackers– a veritable feast. Rose promises a cake at the end, which she dashes periodically back to the kitchen to check, and which is dusted with icing sugar when she finally brings it to the table, still warm from the oven.

"Can't begin to thank you–" Ben begins when they've eaten their fill, and Rey nods fervently in agreement.

"To Mr. and Mrs. Solo!" Finn calls from the end, holding up a tin cup of water.

"Hear hear!"

Pastor Dameron still looks a bit put out, but he raises a glass to them as well, and Rey thinks she might soon become dehydrated, what with all the blubbering she's done today. 

She helps to clear the table of all the dishes, and then minds Temiri once more, making funny faces at him until he giggles and grabs for her necklace. It's nearly time to go, she reflects sadly. Nearly time to give back the marvelous dress, nearly time for her wedding day to be over.

Rose emerges from the back door and Rey holds Temiri out to her.

"I'll go and change," she says. Her traveling suit is in the parlor, carefully folded amongst Rose's dressmaking supplies.

But Rose shakes her head. 

"Your– Mr. Solo– he bought it for you."

"What?" Rey frowns. "Isn't it for Mrs. Lintra's sister? What will you have to give her?"

"Rey," Rose says, a manic gleam in her eye. She takes Temiri, bouncing him on her hip happily. "I'll have to make _another_ dress."

"And you have time?"

"Oh, yes." Rose hums dreamily. "And Mr. Solo said he wants another of his mother's old dresses made over for you. Isn't it _wonderful_?"

Rey frowns a little at Rose's retreating back, but follows her into the house to collect her things, changing into her traveling suit for the ride home anyway and wrapping the new dress carefully in paper. She ought to talk to Ben about impulsive purchases like this, they really can't afford–

_But you_ can _afford them_ , a little voice whispers. _You're a rich woman now._

She shakes her head, walking down the front steps to find the wagon hitched to the horses, and Ben conversing in low tones with Pastor Dameron, who has his hand a bit threateningly on his shoulder. 

"Ready?" Rey calls anxiously, wishing to avoid any more confrontations. She seats herself busily in the wagon seat, arranging her things. Finn wanders out of the barn and Rey waves goodbye to him, wondering if she could convey in her smile that she means no harm toward him and Pastor Dameron, whatever they might get up to in the horse stalls. 

"See you around, Mrs. Solo!" he calls to her, grinning widely and doffing his hat, and she can't help the little thrill that goes through her at hearing her new name. 

"See you around, Finn!" 

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Ben nodding seriously before clapping Pastor Dameron on the back. The rest of the Damerons have gathered on the porch to wave goodbye to them, and Rey waves back frantically as they pull out of the yard. 

"What did the Pastor want?" she asks as soon as they're around the bend. Ben sighs.

"He cares for you, is all," he tells her. "And I'm real glad for it too."

"You don't think he's cross with me?"

Ben snorts. "Not with you, no. Reckon he's still a bit cross with me. Why should he be cross with you?"

"For what I– for what I said to him–"

Ben just frowns in confusion at her, and Rey considers that maybe he hadn't caught the exchange at all, and if so, she ought to keep her mouth shut. She shakes her head and changes the subject.

"You bought the dress from Rose?"

"Ah," he grins a bit bashfully. "Well you oughta keep your own wedding dress, don't you think?" He tugs her under his arm so they're closer on the wagon seat. "I reckon I've been livin' a bit of an– _abstemious_ – existence, and I'm realizin' maybe I've been depriving you of some things you oughta have."

"No– Papa, you've given me so much–"

He squeezes her waist. "So you'd say no to ordering some books, then?"

"I– well, no, that's not what I meant–"

They pass the outlying buildings of town and trot along Main Street. Ben pulls the horses up short at the General Store, tying them to the hitching post and helping Rey out of the wagon seat. 

"Hullo, Mr. Solo," Mr. McQuarrie greets them. "Miss Rey. What can I help you with?"

"We were lookin' to order some things…"

They converse while Rey looks around the store. There's a small collection of books, which she's perused before: a few Bibles and Farmer's Almanacs. And there, this is new– a _novel_. She glances around at them. Ben wouldn't mind her reading a novel, whatever Mrs. Syndulla thought of them, though she'd like some more poetry too, and history books, perhaps even a Latin primer…

She picks up the novel– _A Tale of Two Cities_ – and brings it over to the counter. Dickens is mentioned from time to time in the papers, of course, but she's never had the opportunity to read one of his works.

"–what about a mangle?" Ben is saying to Mr. McQuarrie, who nods, marking down the item on a piece of paper to be ordered. "And items for a lady's trousseau?"

Mr. McQuarrie looks up at Rey. "Is Miss Rey looking to be married?"

"Mrs. Solo and I were married this morning," Ben says, and Rey gets the sense that he's been eager to drop this bit of information since they walked in the store.

Mr. McQuarrie gapes wordlessly at them for a moment before trying to school his expression. "I– that's– " He clears his throat heartily. "I must offer you my congratulations, then." He nods awkwardly at Rey without making eye contact. 

"Thank you," she mumbles, feeling her face growing hot. He marks down some items for a lady's trousseau, asking her about each one with a practiced disinterest, and she faintly agrees, though she hardly listens to what he's saying.

How is this somehow worse than confronting the Damerons? Mr. McQuarrie wraps up the book and a few other items they've purchased from the store, and calculates the total sum so that Ben can pay. Rey watches, imagining him as a member of a sort of Greek chorus, and feels a deep sense of foreboding.

"Can we–" she turns to Ben but her voice comes out as barely a whisper. She tries again. "I'd like to write to a shop in Lincoln, to order some books. Before we drive home."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he says, casually putting his hand on her waist. "Can we add some stationary and a stamp to that?" Mr. McQuarrie nods, his tongue between his teeth as he writes another line on the receipt.

Rey finds a bit of clear space on the counter to write her letter with a borrowed pen and ink. 

_Dear Mr. Erso,_ she begins. _You may not remember me…_

She decides to simply describe the sorts of books she'd like and let him choose for her. Ben peers over her shoulder. 

"Ask for a copy of the _Aeneid_ ," he says. "And the _Metamorphoses_."

She nods, adding the lines.

_Sincerely,_

She pauses, unsure of how she wants to sign the letter. Mrs. Reyna Sands Solo? She shakes her head; she's always disliked her surname, chosen for her at one of the orphanages. No, she would have a clean start. 

_Sincerely,_   
_Mrs. Rey Solo_

When they return home they have to tend to some chores they'd neglected during the day, but this passes quickly enough and they pull the table and chairs outside into the sunset and sit down to a simple wedding supper of eggs and bacon and a dessert of strawberries that Rey grows in their garden. 

"Where did you get the ring?" she asks, admiring it in the golden light.

"It was my mother's," he tells her. "That and a few other pieces were in that trunk; I can show 'em to you if you like."

Rey smiles at him, looking at the ring again. "It's beautiful."

"Just like you," he says, leaning closer to her until his lips hover just over hers. "Prettiest bride I ever saw."

The kiss is slow, almost chaste, like the one at the wedding, but Rey shivers with the sensation of his skin brushing against hers, at the slight flick of his tongue. Ben cradles the back of her head in his large hand and presses forward against her, nipping, just a little, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth.

As soon as it starts it's over, and Rey's left gasping, hungry for a mouth that's been pulled away from her.

"We don't have to–" Ben's hand comes up to rub the back of his head. "Only I know you haven't been feelin' swell, and Lord knows we don't gotta consummate anything…"

"No, I'm– I feel alright, really." She reaches her hand out to cradle his face, looking into his dark eyes. "Take me to bed, Papa, please."

He doesn't hesitate, pushing his chair back and scooping her up into his arms while she shrieks in laughter.

"Have to do this again once the house is finished," he tells her as he carries her over the threshold. 

She looks up at him from where he gently lays her on the bed, watching him shrug off his suspenders and untuck his shirt. They'd both changed out of their nicer clothes in order to do chores, and it'd be simple for her to quickly undress herself as well.

"What would you do?" she asks him. "If we did have to consummate? If I were a virgin, I mean?"

He pauses, looking down at her with his buttons half-undone and his trousers sagging a bit. 

"What would I do?" He moves to loom over her and she leans away from him, her head coming to rest on her pillow. His voice is low and gravely, and he skims his nose along her jaw until it nudges up against her ear. "Oh, sweetheart, I'd be so _gentle_ with you."

He sucks a kiss into the thin skin just below her ear and she sighs, tilting her head to allow him better access. 

Her blouse is unbuttoned before she knows what's happening, and he's dragging his mouth down her neck, seeking the bit of newly exposed collarbone.

"Gotta take this off, alright?" 

She nods at him breathlessly, and he pulls her blouse away, leaving her in her corset and skirt. But his hands find this too, fiddling with the hook and eye closure and pulling it from her waist.

"Can you undo your corset for me?"

Rey nods again, somehow struck dumb into a blushing bride, sitting up to undo the front closure while Ben presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder. He reaches up to pull her chignon loose while she's busy divesting herself of her corset, and her hair falls in soft curls around her face.

She'd worn a chemise and drawers today. They are her newest underthings and she wanted to feel fresh and new on her wedding day. Ben hums, running his fingertips over the pretty white lawn, reaching under the chemise to pluck loose the drawstring of her drawers, pulling them down over her hips.

"You can leave this on," he murmurs to her, fingering the chemise once more. "Don't wanna impose on your modesty or nothin'."

Rey has to bite back a smile at that, but lets him press her back against the pillow.

"Gotta open up for me, sweet girl." He pushes her knees apart. 

His fingers cut through her folds like a hot knife, still concealed by the chemise, finding her swollen clitoris before he presses two into her cunt. Rey lets out a breathy little moan, her hands grasping at the bedclothes.

"There you go," Ben whispers, watching her face. "Doin' so good, sweetheart…"

He pulls out his cock while he pleasures her, and Rey wonders if a new bride was meant to be spared this sight as well. It is indeed soon obscured from her view as Ben leans down to capture her lips in his, whispering encouragement at her while he replaces his fingers with his manhood.

" _Ah_ ," he grunts as he eases himself slowly inside her. Rey whines as she's stretched, the unyielding pressure of his hard cock pinning her open, her knees spread like butterfly wings around his girthy chest. "Good– good girl– _hngh_ – you're okay… I know it's big– "

Ben pulls himself out a little before thrusting back in, and Rey moans as he hits that pleasurable spot inside her. Her face and chest feel flushed and she gazes at him, lips slightly parted, as he thrusts again, slow and deliberate, cupping her face in his hand so he can muffle her little noises with his own mouth.

"My pretty little wife," he whispers into her neck, thrusting again. "This tight little quim."

He reaches between them, under the chemise, and barely brushes her clitoris before Rey's legs are thrashing, her back bowed and his name caught in her throat. 

Ben picks up his pace, groaning in time with his frantic thrusts, mouthing at her neck. She can feel his shudder as he reaches his climax, the sudden weight of him as he collapses on top of her.

They lay panting together atop the pretty quilt. She lazily kisses the bits of him she can reach, scraping her teeth gently against his skin, sucking bruises wherever she pleases. She can feel him softening inside her until finally he shifts and slides out wetly. 

With a groan he heaves himself off her, sitting back to look down at her once more, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip until she opens her mouth and suckles on the tip, looking up at him, eyes hooded in her post-euphoric haze.

A shift of her legs out of their spread position draws his attention, and he looks lower, impatiently pushing her chemise out of the way.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes. He draws his fingers through her folds again, pulling her lips apart, and she realizes he's watching his spend trickle out of her, thick and messy. "Fuck, _Rey_."

He's hard again, pressing against her thigh as he marvels at the white beads dripping down her crimson flesh. This time he isn't gentle when he pushes into her, thrusting hard enough to knock a gasp from her as he bears down, grasping her hip with a grip hard enough to bruise.

"If we had to– _ahh_ – consummate tonight," he growls, her eyes rolling back with the sudden onslaught, "I'd– _huh_ – spend myself– _hngh_ – silly in your little– _ughh_ – virgin cunt." Rey's cries are a drawn-out staccato of pleasure, punched from her throat. "I'd keep you tied to this bed until my seed took, until I fucked a baby into you, until I got my pretty little wife _pregnant_ –"

She clenches at the word, so vulgar, uncouth, fit for animals. His thrusts are rocking the bed and she's shaking with ecstasy, cresting higher and higher, crashing and spinning out underneath him while he fills her body determinedly, again, with his seed–

They lay awake for a while in the lamplight, after they've properly prepared the farm and the shanty for bed. Ben holds her, his hand tracing little circles on her belly, his chin tucked over her shoulder.

"What do you think it'll be like?" Rey whispers, trying to imagine her flat stomach rounded and full.

Ben hums. "Don't know really. Exhilaratin', I imagine. And probably tiring."

Rey smiles.

"Probably."

"Can't wait to meet 'em, though," Ben says, pressing his fingers against her.

"Me too," Rey says, covering his hand with hers, her heart so full she feels it could burst. "I can't hardly wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Gratuitous wedding imagery. Wedding night smut with 1) loss of virginity kink even though no one is a virgin, and 2) breeding kink even though Rey is already pregnant.**
> 
> Rey's dress is some amalgam of [these](https://womenshistory.si.edu/herstory/object/wedding-dress-worn-susette-la-flesche) [three](https://australiandressregister.org/garment/621/) [dresses](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/109231), all of which are original garments from 1881 and one of which was actually worn in Nebraska by [Susette La Flesche](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susette_La_Flesche), a Native American rights activist, at her wedding. Though they are all cream and gold, they were intended as wedding dresses; I did want Rey's to be something that _could_ be a wedding dress but also could have believably been ordered as a generic formal gown.
> 
> [White](https://vintagebrides.tumblr.com/post/58698787720/emma-in-her-wedding-gown-1881) [wedding](http://www.silkdamask.org/2014/02/in-situ-1881-wedding-dress-portsmouth.html) [dresses](https://lilyabsinthe.com/wedding-fashions-of-the-late-19th-century/wedding-dresses-of-the-1880s/) were certainly a thing by this point, courtesy of [Queen Victoria](https://www.vanityfair.com/style/2018/04/queen-victoria-royal-wedding), though I was extremely hard-pressed to find any natural form era wedding dress without a [cuirass bodice](https://lilyabsinthe.com/wedding-fashions-of-the-late-19th-century/wedding-dresses-of-the-1880s/).
> 
> Rey's [ring](https://www.etsy.com/sg-en/listing/714977530/very-early-victorian-diamond-engagement). It wasn't common practice for [men](https://historywedding.blogspot.com/2018/03/when-did-men-start-wearing-wedding-rings.html) to wear wedding rings until the twentieth century.
> 
> The wedding vows are adapted from Quaker vows. The low-key outdoor wedding/elopement is some 21st-century revisionism; even frontier weddings were remarkably [elaborate](https://centerofthewest.org/2018/03/09/points-west-frontier-weddings/). I read a lot about [trousseaus](http://www.vintageconnection.net/BridalTrousseau.htm) and have emerged more baffled than ever; my understanding is that prior to their weddings brides were supposed to purchase and/or make all of the underwear and linens they would ever need for the rest of their lives (?) and if they were rich enough they might also put them on display (??). If someone wants to explain them to me in the comments, please do. Rey obviously wasn't planning on getting married yet, and wouldn't have prepared her trousseau ahead of time. On the other hand I imagine Rose has a small collection for her trousseau already.
> 
> Thank you so much to [@bee_woop](https://twitter.com/bee_woop) for this wonderful [fanart](https://twitter.com/bee_woop/status/1323290214169776135) of Papa Ben with a nice bouquet of wildflowers ❤️.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the breeding kink. If Ben really was trying to get her pregnant, having sex with her again immediately wouldn't be the best method; the head of the human penis likely [evolved](https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/147470490400200105) to displace rival semen from the vagina. :)
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers. Please stay safe however you're celebrating, and maybe consider donating to the [First Nations Development Institute](https://www.firstnations.org/fndi_donate/). 
> 
> Much love to you all! ❤️


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Consensual Non-Consent. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

Rey can hardly sleep Saturday night, knowing that they are to go to church for the first time as man and wife in the morning. She tosses and turns until Ben rolls over and half-smothers her with a heavy arm.

"It'll be alright, sweetheart," he grumbles blearily into the quiet dark. "Get some rest now."

But she stares at the tar paper ceiling and cradles her belly while his gentle snores fill the shanty. A protective fierceness grips her. Whatever they all wish to say to her, they might, but no one would insult her child. 

She imagines a tiny heartbeat beneath her fingertips, and, soothed by this lullaby, she finally drifts to sleep.

At Ben's urging she dons her new golden dress. She lifts the hem carefully to avoid the dust in the yard and settles gingerly into the wagon seat, anxiously smoothing the ruffled skirt.

She tries to sit tall beside Ben as they ride into town; she ought to act her part as a married woman. Calm and poised, nurturing, virtuous…

Rey looks for Rose while Ben hitches the horses, but she doesn't appear, likely inside already. 

"You look real pretty," Ben murmurs, taking her arm in his. "We oughta get a photograph taken with you in that dress."

Rey smiles at him, and they walk into the building.

It's clear to her as they enter that the news has spread. Conversations cut short as they pass and a sudden hush falls before a low murmur creeps up in the background. Rey's smile wavers and she feels her face grow red, but she keeps her head high as they find their seats. She can almost feel the gaze of the other parishioners on her, like a physical touch. 

She spots Rose and Finn in their usual pew, and she breathes a sigh of relief. As long as they have a few friends, she thinks she can manage whatever else comes their way.

"You wore it–!" Rose's exclamation is cut short by Pastor Dameron standing at the front and clearing his throat. 

"Welcome, everyone," he says. "And I believe we must extend a special welcome to our newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Solo."

There's a low grumbling of _welcome_ and _congratulations_ from the parishioners around them. A " _What?_ " sounds out in a low, male voice from the back pew, and there's a brief outbreak of laughter. Rey feels her face burn hotter, but she does her best not to react, staring stonily ahead. Ben squeezes her hand in her lap.

"In Ephesians 4," Pastor Dameron continues in a rather sharp voice, "we read of Unity in the body of Christ. Paul urges 'you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit– just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call– one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. But grace was given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ's gift.'" 

He fixes them all with a stern look.

"'Speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.'"

He pauses again to look up again from his Bible, then resumes his pacing in front of the congregation.

"'Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.'"

He closes his Bible with a snap and they all stand to sing a hymn. Even without further elaboration, Rey knows his sermon is for her. She raises her voice.

_As I went down in the river to pray  
Studying about that good ol' way  
And who shall wear the starry crown  
Good Lord, show me the way_

Mr. Snap finds them after, while Rose is fiddling with Rey's gown, muttering about re-hemming one side of the bodice.

"Real sorry for my outburst earlier," he tells them sheepishly, fiddling with his hat. "I hadn't heard the news till now."

"That's alright, Mr. Snap," Rey tells him. She feels a little better, now that the service is over and the initial reactions passed. Other parishioners wish them congratulations as they leave the church. Some avert their gaze, but some offer smiles.

"Still," he says. "I woulda brought you a wedding present."

"Oh, you don't have to–"

"I will," he reassures her. "Next week, I promise. Only wish I'd got to see you all dressed and fine for the wedding. Sure you had your reasons for rushing things, but…"

Rey smiles wryly. "I wore this, so…"

"Ah! 'Course, a Miss Rose Dameron creation…"

They chat a while longer, and then he and Ben discuss the progress on the house and a few projects on Mr. Snap's homestead. Rey hadn't considered that more people might have wished to attend the wedding; she had been so certain of the shame of it all that she could only imagine people wishing to stay far away.

Finally Mr. Snap bids them a good day, tipping his hat and promising once again to bring a wedding gift the following week. Rey waves goodbye to Rose, who tells her to bring by the dress to be made over, not before the end of July but not after the first week of August. 

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Ben asks as they're driving home.

Rey thinks of the cold stares and hostile murmurs, and mutely shakes her head no.

There are the same chores to be done as last summer, except now there's the house building to think of, and also Rey is coming to realize that she'll be of much less help. 

Her fatigue has returned, and she finds herself wanting to nap in the middle of the day, only to wake up long past the hour she had intended. She instructs Ben to wake her at least in time to prepare supper, but on more than one occasion she wakes to find him bent over the stove himself.

Finn comes by a few times over the next few weeks to help Ben with the wheat harvest, and with the house. Rey quite likes his visits. They give her a chance to speak to another person outside of church; they chat while each nailing lath in the upstairs rooms, and she hears all about his trials and tribulations of finding a suitable homestead. Ben is determined to have the house finished enough to move in for the winter, though they'll likely only occupy the kitchen and part of the downstairs until all the appropriate furnishings can be purchased.

In the evenings, if she feels up to it, she curls up in Ben's lap in their rocking chair and reads aloud from their new books; he helps her through the _Aeneid_ , and once she becomes tired of translation they read _A Tale of Two Cities_. Rey shivers in delight at the bloodiness of the Terror, wondering if she could encode secret messages in her lumpy knitting. 

She is still a little wary of the other congregants at church, unsure if she is imagining scornful glances or children hurried out of her path and away from her pew. Mr. Snap follows through on his promise and gifts them a very handsome set of bone china, all carefully wrapped and stored securely in their box. Rey is overcome, and chokes out a _Thank you_ to him, imagining the fine plates and teacups displayed in the cupboards in the new house. 

_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…_ Rey thinks. But wasn't it really?

Rey visits with Rose after church one Sunday, during her pre-allotted window of time, bringing another dress from the chest of drawers to be re-made into a fashionable cut. It's in a dark blue velvet, and Rose is quite daring with the re-shaping, cutting the front open and adding an underskirt of new white brocade. Rey has no idea where she'll wear it, but feels very regal in the high collar and fine fabric. She's had to loosen her corset just a bit since her waist began to thicken, but Rose reassures her the bodice is not so tightly fitted that she'll need to have it taken out for a while yet.

Ben picks her up from the Damerons' house in the wagon. It's a pleasant drive into the summer sunset. 

"Talked to Caleb Dume," he tells her. "Said we could come by and have a photograph taken this week."

Rey tries very hard to look pleased, but Ben quirks his lips knowingly at her and adds, "'Spect Mr. Bridger won't be there. Last I heard he was helpin' out on a homestead north of Belmont over the summer."

"Oh, thank goodness," she says, letting out a breath. "If I never have to see his insufferable face again–"

"You're tellin' me," Ben says darkly. "I oughta follow up on my letter to the superintendent, never did get a response…"

Rey rolls her eyes at him, but finds herself in higher spirits. She's never had her photograph taken before, and she likes the idea of it, having a permanent memory of their happiness to hold with her, to look at in the future, to show her children Mama and Papa when they were first married.

She wears her gold dress again that Tuesday, doing her hair up the same as on their wedding day, and they both look very proper arriving at Mr. Dume's house in town. The memory of the last time they were here plays itself in her mind's eye, but she takes a deep breath and alights from the wagon, following Ben to the front door where he knocks twice and then stands back, holding his black bowler hat in his hands. 

Mr. Dume answers, smiling at them and gesturing that they enter.

"Just through here."

They walk a short way down a dark hallway, and then enter the photography studio. Rey's jaw drops open. The room is large and airy and so _bright_ ; glass windows tile the sloped ceiling, covered with billowy white sheets. She turns in a full circle, trying to take it all in. There's a backdrop propped in one corner, and Mr. Dume's box draped in black cloth stands next to an overladen desk. Frames and trinkets are propped haphazardly on the mantle over the fireplace. A few cushioned chairs face at awkward angles, like acquaintances unwilling to enter into conversation. The same vaguely sweet scent that Rey remembers from Zorii's viewing hangs in the air. 

"Thought we could have you sitting," Mr. Dume is telling Ben. "And have her standing next to you, perhaps with her hand on your shoulder?"

"Alright." Ben glances at her and she nods, going to stand next to him, seated on a velvet chair in front of the backdrop. 

Mr. Dume considers them, then nudges Rey into a slightly different position. He flits around, undoing sheets and adjusting large white discs that seem to reflect the light. Finally he peers through his camera at them, moving a foot or so forward, presumably, Rey thinks, to better fill the frame. 

"Alright, hold still then…"

He lifts the shutter. Rey concentrates on keeping her expression carefully blank, so that her face doesn't come out blurred. It seems to drag on and on; she can feel her muscles growing stiff, her nose begins to itch dreadfully, and she hardly dares to take a breath–

"Done." Mr. Dume slides the shutter closed again, and Rey slumps in relief, reaching up to scratch her nose. Beside her, Ben does the same, laughing a bit at the tension in his shoulders.

They each get separate portraits taken after Mr. Dume develops the first tintype, and Rey wonders if Ben's parents had made a similar day of it for the portraits in the old locket. 

"Might run over to the General Store check on some orders while those're developin', if you don't mind, Dume."

Mr. Dume waves his hand, preoccupied with the chemicals in the box. "Certainly, certainly…"

They make it only a block from the studio before Rey realizes she's forgotten her hat. She tells Ben to go ahead while she doubles back to retrieve it.

"Mr. Dume?" she knocks on the front door, but there's no answer. Perhaps he's at a delicate moment in the development, and can't break his concentration…

She pushes the door in carefully, intent upon retrieving her hat and going, when a low murmur of voices sound from the studio. She's about to call out again when her own name reaches her ear.

"...Reyna Sands could've gone real far, you know, never met a girl cleverer than her in all my life, and now she'll be stuck out here forever, tied to that _lech_..."

It's Mrs. Syndulla. Rey feels like cold water has been poured over her head. She ought to leave…

"You really think Solo forced himself on her?"

And Mr. Dume. Is this what he's been thinking the entire time he took their portraits?

"I'm not saying the girl hasn't acted the harlot, you should've seen her when we returned from Lincoln. But the man was meant to be her father! Not to knock her up like a spring sow…"

If Rey could only turn around she could leave. Just turn and leave. Turn and…

"Somehow he's got the Pastor on his side, Lord if I know how he managed that, but he's in the clear and her reputation _ruined_ forever…"

Rey feels blindly behind herself for the door, so slowly she might be moving through molasses.

"...don't know the value of a woman's reputation, Caleb…"

"...think I know something of it…"

Rey blinks into daylight, the door slamming behind her. A spike of something like panic lances through her, and she trips away from the house, hurrying down the street after Ben. Their words buzz angrily in her head, and she feels almost nauseous. No, she _does_ feel nauseous. She ducks into an alleyway just before Main Street and vomits into a pig pen.

It's everything and worse that she'd feared the town might think about them, about her. There's no good way to spin this after all. Somehow she's both been horribly violated by a rapacious man _and_ acted as a dirty little slut, worthy of the gutter...

She wipes her mouth. Her dress has a bit of muck on the hem from the alley, and she stares at it for a long moment. A perfect metaphor for her marriage, isn't it? Beautiful and golden and besmirched with the dirt of scandal?

She finds Ben in the General Store, speaking to Mr. McQuarrie. Apparently a dining table and a set of chairs have come in on the train.

"...I'll go and bring 'round the wagon…"

She stares at the counter blankly, _knocked up like a spring sow_ playing on a loop in her head.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

Rey shakes her head slowly. "Just feeling a bit poorly."

Ben studies her in concern. "Best wait here, then, outta the sun," he tells her. "I'll go and fetch the wagon."

Rey glances up at Mr. McQuarrie as Ben leaves. What does he think of her? Is he biting his tongue, so he might still do business with Ben? Would he otherwise shun her? Mock her as a whore? Sneer at their child? She folds her arms protectively around her belly and pushes out through the screen door, unable to stand at the counter for another minute. 

She warily eyes the handful of people in the street from the boardwalk. What do _they_ think of her? And what do they all think of Ben? Do they see him as the worst sort of rapist? Preying on the innocent and powerless, worse even than Mr. Hux?

It's not ten minutes before Ben pulls up in the wagon, handing her her hat and gleefully showing her the tintypes.

"Turned out pretty swell, don't you think?"

They're not blurry, Rey supposes. Ben's face looks alright, but her own startles her a little. It's rather pinched and severe, and she looks so young compared to him. Maybe a little frightened, even? 

Is this what others would see when they looked at it, years from now? A scared little girl and her large, angry husband?

She's quiet on the way home, with the furniture piled high in the back of the wagon, tied down securely with ropes. Ben glances at her but seems to think her professed illness explains things, and doesn't prod further. Her thoughts spiral more and more until she fears she might scream.

They eat toast and hard sausage for supper, with some greens from the garden. Rey can't find the energy to cook anything more, and decides to turn in early, slipping out of her muddy dress to don her nightgown and robe even though it's still quite light out, and curling up on the quilt. Ben hunches over the kitchen table with a notebook spread before him, marking down supplies he still needs for the house, and carefully denoting the money spent on the new dining set, now stashed in the unfinished dining room. 

"Could get a mattress stuffed with down feathers, how's that sound? Have to make a new bed frame for it, prob'ly, or order one…"

He squints down at his bookkeeping with his tongue between his teeth.

"You never made me a bed."

Ben looks up at her uncomprehendingly.

"When I first came here," she clarifies, "you said you'd make me my own bed, but you never did." 

"Ah," Ben frowns. "Do you want your own bed?"

Rey shakes her head. "No, I just… I thought…" She's not sure what's compelling her to continue down this line of thought; it's like pressing on a bruise. "I thought us sharing might've meant you'd try and take advantage of me." Ben stares at her dumbly, mouth opening in a silent denial. "And I thought… I thought I might let you, because you fed me seconds that first night."

Ben's expression can only be described as a sort of struck horror, his jaw clenched so hard she can almost hear his teeth crack. He swallows heavily and clears his throat, not breaking eye contact with her.

"Do you– do you think I took advantage of you?"

"No," she whispers, blinking tears out of her eyes. "But everyone else does."

She curls up on the quilt again, unable to bear it any longer, hugging her knees to her chest, sobs spilling over in deep, wracking shudders. 

"Oh, Rey, sweetheart…" 

Ben's hand tentatively touches her shoulder, as if unsure whether she'll shake him off. But she turns her face into his chest and lets him wrap his arms around her, breathing in his comforting scent until she's all cried out. She sags limp against him and studies the threads of his shirt, red and black, woven into a muted plaid, darkened in patches from the damp of her tears.

"'Spect a lotta folks are gonna think a lotta things about us," he says after a few minutes of silence, his voice vibrating through his chest against her cheek. 

"And it doesn't bother you?" she asks. "That they think you're a– that– "

She thinks of her own words a few months back, giggled in jest– _You're the monster!_

Ben sighs. "The worst thing they could've done to me is take you away from me, sweetheart." He drops a kiss to her brow. "But they didn't. And now they can't. So let 'em think whatever they want, I don't care."

She wipes her eyes, taking a shaky breath, sniffling just a little. What's the worst they could do to her now? Gossip? She quirks her lips at him and nods. "Alright, Papa."

She lets him return to his bookkeeping, washing her face clean of tear stains and settling with one of her new history books to read about the early Roman republic.

He smiles softly down at her when he comes back from bedding down the animals for the night, and puts the shanty to rights. She watches him strip his clothes from his body, folding them carefully in the chest of drawers and taking out his nightshirt.

"What if you had?" The same compulsion from before drags the words from her mouth.

"Had what?" His head is stuck under his nightshirt, with only his cock exposed.

"What if you had taken advantage of me?"

His head pops through the neck and he surveys her with a calculating look. 

"I _wouldn't've_ – "

"I know, Papa," she says, holding his gaze. "But what if you _had_?"

***He's still for a moment, and she wonders if maybe he's not as unbothered by everything as he says, if she's pushing him too far on this, if she's asking for too much…

His hand finds her foot beneath the blankets, and a second later Rey squeaks as he pulls her to the edge of the bed, leaving her scrambling and panting before him, all akimbo.

"What if I'd taken advantage?" His voice is a growl.

She stares up at him, her lips slightly parted. There's a bit of a glint in his eye when he puts his hands on her body, rougher than he might normally, though she notices he still avoids her breasts. A pause as if he's considering, and then he's shoving her dressing gown off her shoulders and pulling her nightgown over her head. But instead of pulling it off, he leaves it tangled around her wrists, twisting it even more so she's unable to move her hands. 

Rey blinks and then he's got her flipped onto her belly. He drags her body to the center of the bed, positioning her how he likes, and crawls over her so she can feel the heat of him against her back, his hard shaft already prodding at her bottom.

"You mean, what if I'd made you my little plaything?" He breathes heavily in her ear, grabbing a handful of her hair so she's arching off the bed before licking a wet stripe up her cheek. "What if I'd made you my own, personal whore?"

He nips at her earlobe and Rey whimpers helplessly. He rears back, dropping her to the mattress, and smacks her right buttock. Rey yelps.

"Think I'd've thrashed your ass red every night, just to remind you who you belong to." He smacks her again, walloping her other cheek. Rey jerks against the nightgown, pulling at the restraint. He catches her lower on her thighs, the _smack_ of his open palm loud in the little shanty, followed closely by Rey's shriek. "Just to remind you who owns your little holes."

He's crouched behind her now, pulling apart the globes of her ass so he can fit his whole face between them, tonguing indiscriminately. Rey squirms and whines as he licks all the way from her clitoris to her asshole, prodding intently at the little circle of furled muscle. It's so much _sensation_ – She's moaning and thrashing, it's not enough for her to climax, not when he's ignoring her clitoris and her weeping cunt, but–

Ben pulls away, his tongue leaving her, but a moment later his thick finger is prodding, pushing in and in–

"Don't get me wrong, sweetheart," he growls. His cock is out, he drags it through her messy folds. "I'd've fucked _all_ of 'em–"

He pushes into her, twisting his finger in her ass as he buries himself to the hilt in her cunt. Rey wails, pulling harder against the restraints as if to get away, but Ben just laughs and holds her down, snapping his hips against her bottom, thrusting relentlessly. He smacks her bottom again with his free hand, and Rey's eyes are rolling back in her head, her screams reaching higher and higher–

She clenches around him, her extremities shaking with her climax, and Ben curses, driving into her even harder. He pulls his finger from her ass, but then he's pushing two back in, spitting on them to give them a better glide, and Rey's as full as she's ever felt–

"Don't think I'd've– _fuck_ – used a sheath with you– _hrngg_ – either. I'd've filled you to the brim with my seed, till it was _dripping_ outta you, my messy little spend-soaked _whore_ –"

He groans deeply, leaning forward to bite her on the shoulder, and his thrusts become stilted and irregular, pumping her full of him. The thought of it is enough to send her over the edge again, muscles seizing up so she flails helplessly under him, held down by his hand at her waist and his mouth at her neck. ***

It's silent for a long moment, broken only by the sounds of their panting breaths. Rey rolls over to stare at the ceiling after Ben pulls off her. He fumbles with the nightgown around her wrists, loosening it enough that she can slip it back on.

He peers at her anxiously. "Is that– was that what you wanted?" 

Rey's quick to nod.

"Yes, Papa." She clears her throat, her voice hoarse. "Was it– it wasn't too much to ask of you?"

"Too much to ask of _me_?" He looks at her, incredulous. "'Course not, sweetheart."

"You don't think it was– that it was wrong of me, to like it?"

He looks at her searchingly, and maybe he realizes she's talking about more than just tonight.

"No," he tells her, serious as he's ever been. "I don't think it was wrong of you to like it."

August dies in a wave of heat, as if the weather is determined to make up for the previous winter. The peaches in old lady Maz's orchard are heavy and ripe, and half the congregation helps her to pick them one Saturday, and then the next, and then there are pies and cobblers and preserves and fat peaches to be eaten straight from the branch with skin that splits under Rey's teeth as she takes a bite. 

"You're carrying high," Maz tells her while they move from tree to tree, sliding peaches into deep apron pockets. "You'll have a girl, I think."

"Really?" Rey hasn't considered the sex, only that she'l have a baby soon, or soon enough.

Her belly is distinctly round now, and she's had to order a new corset to accommodate the bump. Rose had been kind enough to let out some of her dresses for her; Rey worries it'll become a recurring task. 

The house is still a work in progress, but Ben insists upon carrying Rey over the threshold once the kitchen and dining room and downstairs bedroom are complete, the new furniture, along with a feather mattress, moved in.

"Ben, I've been in this house a hundred times already," she chides him as he sweeps her off her feet, side-stepping through the front door so he doesn't knock her head or her legs on the frame. 

"I know, I know, but it's _tradition_ , sweetheart…"

She cooks supper in the new kitchen, with a new big table, and new gleaming pots. The china from Mr. Snap is arranged carefully in one cupboard, and their older china stored in the next. The new mangle sits in the corner, and Rey marvels at how much easier laundry is. Their new feather bed is as soft as a cloud.

But she finds herself in an odd mood the first week of September, restless and moving through the rooms of the house aimlessly, dashing back and forth to the claim shanty to retrieve items that haven't yet been moved, only to decide to bring them back. She tries reading her history book, but can't find the will to concentrate.

If events had played out differently, she'd be on a train to Lincoln just about now, perhaps dragging a trunk behind her through the streets to Boshti's boarding house, looking forward to her lectures at the University.

She daydreams during Pastor Dameron's sermon on Sunday, imagining sitting in a large hall, trying to take down notes as hurriedly as she could while a bespectacled old man lectured from the front of the room. What classes might she have taken? Latin, certainly, and Greek– Ben's showed her the queer alphabet and taught her a handful of words. She likes history a great deal, and the political machinations of the ancient Romans are intensely fascinating to her. But there are all sorts of modern subjects talked about in the papers– chemistry and botany, the fascinating debate over new species and how they arise, physics, engineering–

She makes up her mind to write again to Mr. Erso and request more books on a wider range of subjects. Ben hangs back after the service, chatting to an acquaintance, but Rey has her own purse now, and so makes her way to the General Store to send a letter with payment enclosed.

The screen door swings open before she can reach it, and then she is face to face with Mr. Bridger. She comes to an abrupt halt on the boardwalk.

He looks a bit shocked for a moment, but he composes himself quickly, his eyes dropping to her belly and a snide smirk rising to his lips. She crosses her arms and glares.

"Ah, I'd heard," he says. "Suppose I should extend my congratulations, _Mrs. Solo_." He says her name like it's an insult.

"Thank you, Mr. Bridger," she says stiffly, thinking how to get past him. He's blocking the door.

"I'm off to Lincoln this week," he tells her. "Signed up for quite the slate of classes, but I'm confident I'll do well."

"Hmm." Rey peers over his shoulder. Perhaps she ought to come back another day.

"You ought to come and visit Lincoln, if you ever have the time. There's an exhibition there on a subject that might interest you– a retrospective on The Fallen Woman. The paintings are supposed to be very moral, all the papers say so."

"Fascinating," Rey says flatly.

"I'm sure you'll be busy, in any case," he continues loftily. "But do write, if you'd like a first hand account. I'm happy to provide one."

She smiles thinly, and nods once. "Good day, Mr. Bridger."

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but seems to reconsider, simply tipping his hat while his eyes rake down her abdomen once more, his smirk back in place. It feels like a violation. "Good day, Mrs. Solo." 

Mr. Bridger skips down the steps to the street two at a time, an self-important jaunt to his stride. He heads in the direction of the train depot, a few thin packages clutched in his hand that might be books. 

Rey watches him go, her mouth pinched like she'd swallowed a lemon. She continues to gaze, sightlessly, down Main Street after he disappears, feeling quite trapped behind the railings on the high, dusty boardwalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Old-timey slut shaming from the townsfolk. Rey overhears Mrs. Syndulla speculate whether Ben raped her; this prompts a teary conversation and some consensual non-consent role play which Rey initiates– Ben ties her hands together, spanks her, and calls her a whore while anally fingering her. The sex scene is marked by asterisks if you wish to skip it. Mr. Bridger gets his revenge (by being snotty).**
> 
> I know this isn't proper modern CNC etiquette because they don't have a safe word and it's a very retrospective "was that ok" conversation, but I think this falls back into the established fantasy of Ben knowing how far to take things. He's not actually being particularly rough with her, and is respecting her previously voiced request that he not touch her breasts.
> 
> To establish a pregnancy timeline, Rey got pregnant in early June, so she is about 9 or 10 weeks along when they get their photograph taken, and about 13 weeks along by the end of the chapter. I'd like to disclaim that I have never been pregnant, but I did do some (cursory) [research](https://www.healthline.com/health/pregnancy/sex-drive#1.-Your-hormones-will-fluctuate-) into what that stage of pregnancy looks like. Apparently a lot of the un-fun first trimester pregnancy symptoms drop off by week 10, and also there's an increased flow of blood to the sex organs that can increase libido. Prenatal care was not really a [thing](https://midwiferytoday.com/web-article/history-midwifery-childbirth-america-time-line/) until the 20th century, so that's kind of a bummer. [Maternity corsets](https://allstrangeandwonderful.tumblr.com/post/63883140917/strange-but-awesome-ii-old-corsets-iii) did indeed exist, which sounds very dystopian, but they really served as support devices, much like bras and baby bands do today. Costume YouTube has [oodles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rExJskBZcW0) of [videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNwTqanp0Aw) [debunking](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QUEf-8BKyE&t=528s) [corset](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0iLJ4TIjto) [myths](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fB4FVq8MltI) if you're interested.
> 
> Mr. Dume's photography studio was based on this neat miniature [reconstruction](https://www.thisiscolossal.com/2016/05/19th-century-miniature-photo-studio/) and these contemporary [photographs](https://monovisions.com/photographic-atelier-studio-xix-century-historic/) of real Victorian 'ateliers.' Natural light was important! 
> 
> The hymn they sing is [Down in the River to Pray](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Down_in_the_River_to_Pray) and this [version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flcrUnoAwVk) from _O Brother, Where Art Thou?_ is an absolute banger.
> 
> As far as I know there was no retrospective on the subject of The Fallen Woman in Lincoln in 1881, but there was [one](https://foundlingmuseum.org.uk/looking-back-on-the-fallen-woman/?platform=hootsuite) in London in 2015 (CW for suicide for this link.) I originally wanted Mr. Bridger to torment Rey with [this painting](https://twonerdyhistorygirls.blogspot.com/2016/01/shame-after-misdeed-c1885.html) but alas it wasn't painted until 1885.
> 
> Anyway, I hope people don't hate Mrs. Syndulla, because tbh she's just saying what I would be thinking in this scenario, and also I think it's a lot more nuanced than Rey's interpretation of the conversation.
> 
> Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate, and hope you all are doing well. Much love ❤️


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Angst. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

Though the days remain hot, the nights are growing cooler. Ben shovels coal into the new furnace in the cellar and the hot air rises through the vents in the floor. Rey marvels at how modern it is. Ben chuckles at her excitement, though it is nothing compared to her astonishment at the flush toilet on the second floor, fed by the water tank in the attic. 

"We could have hot running water for our baths, too," he tells her. "Once we get a kitchen boiler." 

Rey considers the luxury of a heated bath on command, without all the hauling and heating of the pots of water to draw it. She might as well be a queen.

Toward the end of September she wakes in their fine new feather bed one morning with Ben's head between her legs under the quilt, and feels very queenly indeed.

"Mm, _Papa_ ," she whines, knotting her fingers in his hair while he licks at her slowly. He hums in response, but only redoubles his focus on the task at hand. It's a heady experience, being unable to see what he'll do next, and he swirls his tongue unexpectedly one minute, then sucks her little clitoris between his lips the next. When he slides a finger into her waiting quim, Rey moans, tightening her grip on his hair. 

He murmurs something back at her, perhaps along the lines of _my pretty girl_ , and hooks a second finger inside her, crooking them both so she spasms around him, catching his head between her thighs so he's trapped by her pleasure.

Ben crawls up the mattress to hold her, spooned in his arms, while she catches her breath, his hardened manhood sliding easily through her slick folds. She moans once more as he presses slowly into her channel from behind.

"You taste like a dream," he whispers to her, thrusting gently and pressing kisses to her neck and shoulder. "My sweet girl. My pretty wife."

Rey turns her head to catch his lips with hers, sighing into their kiss. He rocks them together in a delicate crescendo, cradling her face while he kisses her with his soft, pillowy lips, dropping his hand down to tease her clitoris under her nightgown, then holds her tight while she clenches and jerks out of control, lost in another crisis.

"You're pretty, too," she tells him stupidly, drunk on her pleasure while he continues to take his, pressing her legs tight together and groaning as she squeezes down on his cock. "You're the most– the most– ah– _ah_ – beautiful–"

His hand has come to rest protectively on her rounded belly while he thrusts deeper, but she drags it up to cup her left breast through her nightgown.

"Thought they hurt, sweetheart," he grunts in her ear, thrusting again.

"Mm-mm," she shakes her head where it lolls back on his shoulder. "Not– _ah_ – anymore–"

It's as if he's been waiting to hear such a thing, for he immediately pulls the top of her nightgown open, palming her breast with his huge hand, catching her nipple between two of his knuckles.

"Thought I'd go mad with how much I missed these tits," he tells her gruffly, pinching a bit so her eyes roll back. "An' they're only gettin' prettier every day."

They're more sensitive now, too. Rey hovers on the verge of her climax, limbs shuddering while he thrums her nipple, her whole body quivering on the precipice while his cock–

Her vision whites out and she shakes and shakes, her hoarse cries filling their bedroom while Ben grunts behind her, spending himself furiously inside her. She has no words, only pure serenity in her pleasure–

When she blinks back to reality she finds herself on her back, staring at the fine, plaster ceiling, so unlike the tar paper in the claim shanty. Ben smiles at her, caressing her arms and chest and belly lovingly. He leans down to press delicate kisses to each of her nipples.

"Gonna fall asleep tonight with my mouth at your breast," he whispers to her, before catching her lips for a final kiss. She shivers at the thought.

"I ought to get ready," she whispers apologetically when they part.

"Off to see Rose today?"

She nods, sitting up and wincing when she feels his spend trickle out of her, staining the sheet. Ben stands, retrieving a rag from the little table with the porcelain pitcher, wetting it and handing it to her.

"We're pickling today," she tells him, wiping between her legs; the spend comes away white and satiny. Soon they could do the pickling in the Solos' new kitchen, but they still hadn't the proper pots and equipment. "I'll take some of the veg from the garden, pick up the jars later in the week…"

"D'you need the wagon?" He's shucked his nightshirt and, nude, rifles through the chest of drawers in search of his blue jeans.

"I think I can manage on Star." The wagon is so heavy and cumbersome, and takes nearly twice as long to get anywhere. 

"Be careful," he tells her, pulling on his trousers. "Only I worry about you, on horseback…"

"I will be, Papa." Soon she'll be too big to ride, but until then, she'll savor the freedom.

She makes them a quick breakfast and goes about packing vegetables from the garden in a burlap sack to tie to her saddle and take with her to the Damerons'. Ben carries it out to Star for her and watches her step up on the stirrup to lift herself onto his back.

"Have a good time." 

He nuzzles at her chest a bit when she kisses him goodbye, and Rey is lost in thoughts of his greedy mouth the whole ride into town.

The prairie is a riot of color. Faded from the green of spring through the browns and pale beiges of high summer, now it shines a bright bronze with patches of pink among the dying grasses, speckled through with the yellow and crimson leaves of low growing shrubs. Rey breathes deeply as she rides, savoring the touch of autumn in the air.

No one is in the Damerons' yard when she arrives, so she ties Star's lead to a stake in their near pasture and heaves the burlap sack from the saddle herself. It's not _so_ heavy, but she has to admit it's harder to lift than she's used to. Pausing once in the middle of the yard, she manages to make it to the front door.

Mrs. Dameron answers after a few knocks.

"Oh, Rey!" She takes in the sack of vegetables, and pulls it from Rey's hands. "You ought to be careful, dear."

Rey smiles at her, abashed, and follows her through to the kitchen where they find Rose tending a large pot of water on the stove. She beams when she sees Rey, clasping her hand in greeting; there's something a bit giddy in her expression

"Oh good! We can get started then!"

She sets Rey to washing and cutting the vegetables– green beans, beets, cauliflower, radishes, shallots, parsnips– while she herself starts to mix the brine for pickling– water, salt, sugar, and vinegar that Rose and Mrs. Dameron had made over the summer from molasses and yeast. 

They boil the vegetables in batches in the great pot of water and then divide them into the collection of Mason jars on the kitchen table, pouring the brine to fill them to the top, and then screwing on the metal lids with their queer rubber rings. They converse happily while they work. Rose describes a new dress she's working on for a woman who had written to her from Franklin county and Rey tells her of all the new things for the house, making her promise she'll come out to see it all soon.

"We'll have tea with the new china," Rey tells her dreamily. "And we can sit at the table in the dining room. Oh Rose, it's _so_ grand…"

"I'll wear my finest gown," Rose promises. "And my new hat."

They place a set of the jars carefully in the hot water to boil.

Rose turns to her, wiping her hands on her apron, excitement written clearly on her face.

"Oh Rey, I was going to wait to tell you but I just can't bear it any longer!"

Rey laughs. "What is it?"

"Finn has asked to court me!"

Rey's mouth pops open. She's not exactly shocked by this development, but she's also not sure how to respond.

"That's– that's wonderful, Rose." Belatedly she moves forward to offer an embrace.

Rose chatters on, unconcerned.

"We'll certainly wait awhile to be properly engaged, but Finn's been talking to Mrs. Junda, and it looks as if she'll sell him her homestead; she's going back East now that her husband's died."

Rey nods, pasting a smile on her face, her mind racing. Ought she to tell Rose what she knows? It seems like fairly critical information, really, that her intended is being buggered by her own father…

"It'll be in his name outright, and less than he'd pay per acre for an unspoilt plot, and in any case Finn doesn't want to farm, he wants to raise horses…"

She told herself she'd take the secret to her grave, but…

"They even have a house built already! It's a little small, but we can add rooms, you know…"

"Rose."

Rose pauses, looking at her expectantly, openly.

"Rose, I– you ought to– to know, something about Finn…"

Rose frowns slightly. 

"What should I know?"

"He– you see, he and– and the Pastor, they're– they're engaging in sod–" 

Rey breaks off. What is she doing? Talking about this, so openly, in this house? Mrs. Dameron is like as not in the parlor, hardly a few dozen feet away. The Pastor and Finn could be anywhere. And here Rose is, right in front of her, liable to be as hurt and confused by this as anything in her life, and Rey is going to expose the very people who have helped her so readily and constantly the past few months? Rey opens her mouth again, already shaking her head, trying to figure out how to brush it off somehow…

Rose is staring at her, her face drained of blood.

"Rey," she whispers. "Rey, you can't tell anyone."

Rey stares back.

"I– what?"

Rose has gripped her hand, her nails digging into Rey's skin.

"You don't know what could happen to us," she pleads, "if that got out. You _can't tell_."

"I– I wouldn't–" Rey stammers. But hadn't she? "You _know_?"

Rose is blinking away tears. The pot with the jars rumbles with its boil in the background, and Rey registers vaguely that they ought to take them out.

"Of course I– Finn wouldn't _lie_ to me." Rose's voice has taken on a hysterical edge. "But Rey, you really mustn't– we could lose the _farm_ , Pa could lose the _congregation_ –"

"I'm sorry to– I'm sorry that I–" Rey isn't sure what to say, how she might undo the mess she's created. A lump is rising in her own throat. "I won't say anything, Rose. I _won't_."

Rose pulls her hand away, lifting the lid off the great pot of water and fishing in the water blindly with tongs.

"Finn is a good man," Rose says furiously. "A good man who won't hurt me, who _loves_ me. Do you _know_ what other prospects I might–"

She pulls a jar clear of the low boil, maneuvering to put the jar carefully down on some rags laid out on the table, but the tongs slip a little in her hand and the jar falls, smashing open on the kitchen floor and scattering hot brine and green beans over their feet.

They both shriek, stumbling away from the explosion. 

Rose grabs a broom to sweep up the glass, waving Rey away from where she's trying to mop up some brine with a rag.

"I think you ought to go, Rey," she says in a tight voice, clutching the dustpan like a shield in her hand, not looking at Rey at all. "I can handle the rest from here."

Rey gapes at her. 

"I– Rose–"

But Rose does not look up, and so Rey gathers her things and walks to the front door in a daze. Mrs. Dameron is indeed in the parlor, and looks at her in askance as she passes through the front hall, but Rey can only bring herself to wave a half-hearted goodbye and stumble down the front steps.

What has she done? 

She urges Star away from the homestead at a steady canter, the scene replaying in her mind over and over again. There's a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it's not until she's passed town that she realizes what it is: shame.

How could she have thought it would be a good idea to confront Rose with this most intimate of details about her family? How could she presume to meddle in their affairs?

If Rose knows… that likely means Mrs. Dameron does as well, and _of course_ she does, how could Rey have thought that the Pastor would be the sort of man to lie to his wife? To be unfaithful? And Finn is a good man, the best of men, just as Rose said; he wouldn't interfere with a family in that way. As for the sin... how is any of it worse than she and Ben engaging in congress outside a marriage bed? 

Star turns down the road to the homestead, but Rey pulls him off through the grass toward the creek. Ben surely isn't expecting her home for hours yet, and she wishes to collect her thoughts before she returns. She slides off Star's saddle once they're under the cover of the trees and leaves him to drink; he won't wander far. She pulls a switch from the thicket along the stony banks and uses it to swat furiously at the vegetation, growing angrier with herself with each passing minute. 

How in the world was she to go about making things right with Rose, with all of the Damerons? How would they ever forgive her? How would they ever trust her again?

Rey sighs, picking her way up toward the homestead on exposed parts of the creek bed, lifting her skirts and hopping from rock to rock, crunching gravel under her boots. Star follows behind her at a leisurely pace, splashing occasionally in the water. 

What was she to tell Ben? 

Surely he wouldn't expose them, knowing what might result? But no, she'd told Rose she wouldn't tell their secret, and the least she could do would be to keep that promise. Despite a stab of guilt for keeping things from her husband, this isn't her secret to tell. No, she'd have to think of another explanation for things cooling between herself and Rose…

There comes a low rumble of voices ahead, and Rey draws closer, craning her neck to look through the foliage. Do they have company? She's certain she looks a fright, perhaps she ought to hide somewhere down the creek until they leave…

"–great _Kylo Ren_ –"

The words float as a jeer and Rey freezes upon hearing them. _Kylo Ren_? _Who_ is at the homestead?

She forces herself to creep forward, hardly daring to make a sound, hugging a tree and peering through the leaves to see figures at the entrance to the yard. Her heart pounds in her chest. There are four people– one is Ben, his back turned to her and his arms up above his head. Then, two other people she doesn't know with hats slung low over their faces; the last, holding a rifle, a flash of red hair and–

_Hux!_

Rey feels as though her limbs have quite frozen through, her whole body stricken with a sudden and complete immobility. Even her breath is slowed. Her body clings to the tree trunk, and she can only hope she is as invisible as she thinks she is. If they were to find her… 

"...know you've gotten it hidden here somewhere…" Hux is saying. Rey watches Ben shake his head.

"...think I woulda carried that trunk all this way…?"

Hux brings the barrel of the rifle up to catch Ben in the stomach. Rey screams internally as she watches Ben double over.

"...where that little whore of yours is, quite like to try her out…" Hux trails off indiscernibly, and Rey can just barely hear Ben gasp a reply, which is apparently not to Hux's liking. He pushes Ben over so he falls on his face, yelling at him. "I can wait!"

The taller of the other two men steps in to converse with Hux.

"...know the sheriff'll be lookin' for us in these parts, Hux… oughta get the gold n' leave as quick as we can..."

"I _know_ ," Hux scowls. "I'm _tryin'_ to get him to tell us where it is!"

"...told you," Ben gasps from the ground. "It ain't here. It's in Colorado. Berthoud Pass."

"...likely story…" Hux trails away, muttering to himself. The taller man consults with him.

"...take him with us to look for it, and if he ain't tellin' the truth, we–"

"Shoot him?" The third man pipes up.

"Yes, Mitaka," Hux's voice drips with sarcasm, even from Rey's distance. "But not before we do a hell of a lot more to make 'im talk. Phasma's right, we gotta clear out before it gets around we're here. An' who the hell knows who that slut'll come back with…"

They fall on Ben, pushing him to the dirt again, tying his hands behind his back and stuffing a piece of cloth in his mouth. Hux points his rifle at him, breathing heavily in his face.

"Best get on yer horse now, an' keep quiet, or you better believe I'll wait around night n' day for that pretty little thing a' yours, sheriff or no…"

Ben manages to mount Killer without his hands, and the man, Phasma, ties the halter to his own saddle. Hux mounts his own horse, but rides into the yard for a moment. There's a sound of breaking glass.

Rey can almost see the smugness on Hux's face when he returns. What did he do?

"Heard you got married, Ren." He slaps Ben on the back, nearly pitching Ben out of the saddle. "Had to leave your little wife a wedding present."

The three of them urge their horses forward, pulling Ben along on Killer. They disappear over the horizon, past the far field, in the opposite direction from town. 

Rey's not sure how long she watches the spot where they've disappeared before she can move again. Her mind buzzes with an oppressive blankness, overpowering every other thought. 

There's a splash behind her, and Rey screams, spinning around to defend herself, to cower against the tree trunk.

It's Star. He's made his way up the creek at long last, and nudges her palm in search of pats or oats. 

She reaches a shaky hand to take Star's bridle, and edges out from behind the tree, keeping an eye warily on the horizon.

A faint scent reaches her nose, like a campfire. There's a whooshing noise, and another shattering of breaking glass. Numb, Rey rushes forward to the entrance of the yard. A flickering of light reflects off the barn. She turns the corner–

Flames lick the side of the house, charring the pretty, new boards, blowing out the windows of the front parlor. Smoke swirls high in the sky, fragrant and sooty. The heat coming off the building is already oppressive, and the fire bellows as it consumes, so Rey feels as though she's been caught in a hot, angry wind. The furious voices from the prairie have found her at last, screaming and taunting her.

The homestead is burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Very soft sex scene. Rey tries to tell Rose that Finn and Poe are fucking; Rose already knows and gets upset with her. Reygnst (?) ensues. Also Hux comes back and kidnaps Ben and burns down their house.**
> 
> Please don't hate me. I promise this fic has a happy ending and Ben does NOT die (also Rey does not die. Also the baby does not die.) But c'mon, this is still Star Wars fanfic and there's literally an entire score called [Burning Homestead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wolFdVti3nY).
> 
> Their house (prior to being burned) actually had very modern amenities for the 1880's, which you can read about [here](https://tinyurl.com/y2cofgf4). The Victorian mansion as a concept is very interesting, and you can watch this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xvNhN1PsRw&feature=youtu.be) about its evolution from gilded marvel to haunted house.
> 
> This is roughly the [prairie](https://www.bradmangas.com/product/autumn-in-the-tallgrass-note-card/) I know in autumn.
> 
> A history of [pickles](https://www.pbs.org/food/the-history-kitchen/history-pickles/), a brief history of [the Mason jar](https://www.smithsonianmag.com/innovation/brief-history-mason-jar-180975546/), a general history of 19th century [food preservation](http://raggedsoldier.com/food_preservation.pdf), and a fascinating retrospective on making one's own [vinegar](https://tinyurl.com/yc3syttz). I myself have dabbled in making my own kombucha, and I'm sure you can form some opinions about me just from that tidbit, but I think the [process](https://tinyurl.com/yav7vgh8) of making vinegar can often be pretty similar. 
> 
> As for Rose's marital prospects, please remember the [Nebraska anti-miscegenation law](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anti-miscegenation_laws_in_the_United_States) at this time also prohibited Asians from intermarrying with whites; as far as I can tell, Blacks and Asians were not prohibited from marrying each other, though they were in some other states. The [Chinese Exclusion Act](https://www.history.com/topics/immigration/chinese-exclusion-act-1882) is right around the corner in 1882, so I imagine the political lead-up to this is probably having some effect on Rose as well.
> 
> Sorry for the depressing chapter. Please stick with me, at least through the next update! 
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@entropyyy23](https://twitter.com/entropyyy23) where I have many adorable photos of kittens to make it up to you. Happy holidays! Please stay safe!!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Period-typical but potentially gender non-affirming language to a trans man. 
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/189168310@N08/50818612478/in/dateposted-public/)

_The house! The house is burning!_

It's so hot, Rey can't come closer than half-way across the yard. She can hear braying from the mules in the barn. Chickens scatter away from the heat, clucking frantically. The animals– she needs to get them out–

If before Rey was frozen in shock now she is moved with a jumpy readiness. The cows are all in the near field, safe, staked on fresh grass, but the mules, and the pigs– 

She pulls open the barn door, praying the roof doesn't catch a spark while she's inside. The two pigs barrel past her, nearly knocking her over, while the mules jump in their stalls, their eyes rolling wildly. Rey desperately undoes the latches, pulling her apron up to her nose and coughing while her eyes smart from the smoke. 

She follows their frantic exit, trying to figure out what to do. The house is burning, fast and hot and furious, and she cannot fight it alone. Ought she to ride Star back into town, and go and get help? But what could anyone else do, once they were here, beside toss water onto smoldering wreckage? The ride there and back would take perhaps hours, too long to save anything, and it would delay the pursuit of Ben and the band of thieves…

 _Ben_ , her heart cries out like it's been rent in two. _Ben, oh Ben!_

She has to go after him, as soon as possible. She'll get Ben's shotgun where it hangs in the claim shanty. They won't expect her, she'll take them by surprise. Yes, it's the only way.

Mind made up, she runs to the claim shanty. It's a good distance away from the house, but it's made of wood, just as liable to burn as anything if the wind shifts. She'll have to be quick.

They've left a scattering of items in the shanty– farm tools and odds and ends they haven't found a place for yet in the house. The saddle bags are here, and the blankets for the horses in the winter. Rey wraps one around herself, though it is warm enough with the fire raging a few dozen yards away, and breathes in the musty scent. She spots Ben's shotgun leaning against the wall, the leather pouch of shells and powder resting next to it. 

He taught her how to shoot, over the winter. When there was nothing else to do he'd line up empty tins and have her try and hit them, one after the next. She wasn't half-bad, but oh how she wished now she'd devoted more attention to it, had given it priority over her Latin declensions.

She finds a compass next to the gun, and slips it into her pocket. 

They're going to Colorado. West. She simply needs to go West, and try and overtake them before they get too far. _Berthoud Pass_ , Ben had told them. That's where they'll be headed.

Rey throws everything she can think might be useful into a saddle bag, to complement the one already hanging off Star's flank. When she rifles through the stack of blankets, something metallic falls to the floor. Rey stoops to find the little locket with the miniature photographs of Ben's parents. It must have fallen when they were moving things to the house. On a whim she drops this into her pocket too.

The smoke is thick in the air when she emerges from the shanty. She heaves the saddle bag toward the creek, dropping it and running back toward the flaming house, ducking to the side to pull open the door to the root cellar. Coughing, she holds her apron to her face again, descending the steps into the darkness. She feels blindly around for tinned meat, for preserved peaches and jerky and hard cheese. There's no bread to be had here, of course; the remains of yesterday's bread was in the kitchen, and now it's up in flames.

Rey carries everything up in her skirts, stumbling a little, heaving deep breaths when she emerges into the smoky light, the sun gone red and eerie. Now she'll just get on Star–

He's shied a fair bit away from the yard, but comes reluctantly when she whistles. She slaps the second saddle bag on him, draping blankets over his neck. 

Her canteen sloshes emptily, and she hurries to refill it at the creek. And then–

And then there's nothing else for her to do, except to leave. She steps up onto Star's back, adjusting herself in the saddle, and looks back at the house. The roof has caved in over the front door, the red flames dancing and licking toward the sky, as if they could reach heaven itself. The front porch, with all the poles Ben had painstakingly whittled over all those months, is already a heap of ash and charred wood. 

She can only hope that the plume of smoke is high enough that someone from town or one of the nearer homesteads will come and investigate, maybe take care of the animals. The cows will miss their evening milking, but there's nothing to be done for it. Ben matters more.

Rey digs her heels into Star's flank, and they trot off across the fields, through the dying prairie grasses, toward the sun that's just beginning to sink toward the horizon. 

West.

Her blind determination carries her through until sunset. _West, west, west_ , she thinks, over and over, a burning light to guide her way, the promise of mountains and pines breaking up the sea of grass. She checks the compass now and again but the sun itself is a good guide, sinking to the land at a point beyond which she imagines she'll find Ben, if she only rides a little longer.

It grows chilly as darkness falls, and Rey wraps the saddle blanket tight around her shoulders, urging Star on. She doesn't have a lamp; it had been in the house. She does have a little piece of flint, scavenged from the floor of the shanty, but no way to carry light with her.

She can see her breath, a little, in the gathering dusk, and then she can't, and the prairie stretches out, black and unknowable, like a pool of ink before her. 

A little hollow to the side of her path seems as good a place to stop for the night as any. Rey coaxes Star to sit, and pulls the saddle bags from his back, hungrily cramming cheese and jerky indiscriminately into her mouth. She pulls handfuls of grass from the little bank beside them and offers them to Star, murmuring quietly to him and stroking his nose.

They'll sleep now, and be up before dawn, riding hard again to try and overtake Hux and his gang. She thinks about how she'll ride up behind them, firing shots off before they can react, untying Ben, making their escape…

It'll work out. It has to.

The stars are scattered across the sky almost as densely as flour across a kitchen table. Rey props the loaded shotgun between her thighs, the steel of the barrel just nudging her protruding belly. She leans her head back against Star's warm flank.

 _Just hang on a little longer, Ben,_ she thinks, staring up at the heavens. _I'm coming for you, Papa._

The first hint of dawn finds Rey stiff and cold, slumped over Star's legs. She shakes herself awake, blinking drowsily at the still-dark prairie. Star gets to his feet, whinnying grumpily, and trots off to find a new patch of grass.

Her mad dash to find Ben looks different in the cold ache of morning. What is she doing? The more she considers her situation the more hopeless it seems. Is she really going to chase a murderous gang down on horseback, and shoot them?

Rey buries her head in her hands. Her terror has led her to act rashly. Impulsively. _Foolishly_.

What ought she to do now? She's only half a day's hard ride from the homestead, and a little more than that from town… she could turn back, and go alert the sheriff, or tell the Pastor, and Finn…

But the events of yesterday morning flood back to her– her terrible blunder, Rose's fear and rage. How can she go back and ask them for help now?

A howl sounds from somewhere beyond the hill.

Rey jolts up from her hunched pose. 

Another howl sounds. And another. 

Are they… getting closer?

"Star," she hisses, getting slowly to her feet. She clutches the shotgun, her fingers stiff and clumsy. " _Star_." 

Star has wandered a dozen yards or so away. His head is up, ears pricked toward the sound of the howls. 

If he runs he'll leave her out here, stranded and vulnerable. 

Rey gives a low whistle, hoping he'll walk toward her. The saddle bags are on the ground, but his saddle is still on his back; in her exhaustion last night she neglected to remove it. If she can just get the saddle bags hitched–

There's another howl, much closer, and Rey jumps, the gun shaking in her grip. How many shots could she get off, before they're on her? Killing just one wouldn't matter.

She has to get out of here.

The saddle bags are heavy– dead weight– and the yards stretch to miles before her, her heart beating out of her chest as she prays that Star won't startle and flee. She whistles again, murmuring his name in a calm voice, trying desperately to keep his eyes and his thoughts on her instead of whatever is beyond that hill. 

His flank quivers beneath her hand when she touches it. 

"Good boy," she whispers. "Stay still for me, Star." She lifts the bags with shaking hands, just managing to hook them over the saddle, tripping over herself to get to the stirrups and step up onto his back. Nudging him gently with her heels, she's careful to keep him walking slowly, worried that if she lets up on the reins for a second he'll bolt.

They step carefully away from the hollow. One step in front of the other, as quiet as they can be. Just another step. And another. 

It's a bit lighter now, and Rey can better see the small bluffs in the prairie grasses, the hollows and hills, the dark shapes of bushes or something more sinister. 

Eyes flash at her out of the darkness. Rey can't help her scream, clapping her hand over her mouth as soon as she can, but Star jolts forward anyway.

" _No!_ Whoa, Star! Whoa, boy." She holds the reins so tight her hands ache, pulling him back when all he wants it to sprint forward. If he runs, those eyes will chase them. Best to keep stepping, just keep moving forward… 

They clear another little hill and then Rey can see them– maybe thirty, maybe more, tufted ears and bright eyes and shaggy coats.

Wolves.

Star whinnies nervously. Rey's heart is beating in her ears, so loud she can barely hear herself think. They have to keep moving, just keep going forward, forward…

She allows Star to pick up the pace to a trot, away from the pack as quick as they can without bolting outright. She reaches out to pat his neck, mutely encouraging him. His coat is thick with sweat. 

Rey can hear the wolves fall in behind them, yipping to each other, their tongues lolling out of their panting mouths, full of slavering teeth. 

She doesn't allow herself to look back at them, just concentrates on holding Star back, urging him on. There's a dark line of trees in the distance– a creek, perhaps. Could they lose the pack there?

She feels a bristly warmth on her leg through her stocking and reflex makes her look to see its source. She nearly screams again.

A wolf has come up right alongside them, keeping pace with Star, falling in like a loyal dog on a hunt. He must stand three feet tall, gray, absolutely enormous, his head at Star's shoulder. He's so close Rey can see his panted breaths in the chill air.

Another wolf falls in along on their other side, and another, until they're quite in the center of the pack. The wolves gambol along playfully, snapping and nipping at each other, chasing each other like dogs. They don't seem to pay Rey and Star much mind, though the big gray one has stayed by Rey's side the whole time. She wildly fancies that he's curious about the lone rider, out on the remotest parts of the prairie, with nothing but two half-empty saddle bags and a single gun.

A queer calm comes over her. She can do nothing about the wolf at her shin, just as she could do nothing about the burning house, and nothing when Hux threatened Ben with his gun. She can only keep Star from running, can only urge him to trot over the next swell of earth, can only keep on going west. 

Star fights at the bit. He's shaking so badly that Rey can feel it through the saddle, but she urges him forward still, concentrating on the line of trees that is thrown into greater relief as the sun rises above the horizon. What will happen when they get there? Rey does not know. 

The wolf at her side glances up and she catches sight of a pair of intelligent yellow eyes, appraising her just as she is appraising him.

They're closing in on the creek now, the line of trees looming to blot out the rising sun. The wolves in front yip and bark at each other, streaking out ahead of the pack to rush for the underbrush, disappearing into the darkness of the trees. Rey pulls the reins back, slowing Star down to a walk and letting the pack outstrip them, watching them vanish, one by one, down the banks to the creek. 

The wolf by her side gives one last, lingering look in her direction, and follows his brethren, bringing up the very rear of the pack.

Rey stares at the spot where he slips between two trees, her mouth open, a shaky breath escaping her lips. Her hands fall slack around the reins.

Star jolts suddenly to the right, and then Rey is hanging onto his mane for dear life. He bolts along the creek until a bend takes it back in the opposite direction and then he's sprinting out across the open prairie, faster than Rey's ever seen him run. She doesn't think she can rein him in now, and in truth she doesn't want to. She only wants to put as much distance as she can between them and the wolf pack.

Star runs until the sun is fully risen in the sky, his coat lathered with sweat and his eyes rolling wildly. The great panting breaths he takes rocks her in her saddle. He slows to a trot, and Rey finally catches her own breath; her heart has not slowed since those eyes flashed at her out of the darkness.

She looks around at the sweeping grasses, at the vast emptiness of the prairie. Where have they run to? Her sense of direction is entirely disoriented; they might have gone in any direction from the little hollow where they slept.

She could almost laugh at her own grandiose foolishness. Had she really thought she would manage to find Ben before the gang made it to Colorado? Had she really imagined she could fight them on her own?

The solution is clear– she ought to do her best to find the railroad, and take a train to this Berthoud Pass, or as near as she can, and alert the authorities there. It's so obvious in hindsight; she'll be much faster on a locomotive than Hux will be on horseback, she'll beat him there easily.

Rey pulls Star to a halt, shifting the shotgun in her grasp and swinging her leg over the saddle. She jumps down to pull the saddle bags from their mount, intent on retrieving the compass so that she can redirect them north, where they'll eventually cross paths with the rails.

But there's only one saddle bag hanging from Star's rump.

"No," she whispers in horror. "No, no, _no_..."

She rips into the remaining bag, fingers trembling so hard she can barely grasp anything. Frustrated she turns the bag upside down and empties it onto the ground. Tins of food roll out, a bit of the cheese, the tiny piece of flint.

No compass. No purse either.

Rey gazes desperately back in the direction they've come, searching in vain for any hint of the dark, oilcloth bag. 

Nothing.

She wants to cry and fling herself to the ground and kick her feet. She aches from spending the night on the ground. Her thighs and back hurt from spending all day in the saddle. 

The sky is dark on the horizon, oddly blurred from the distant veil of rain. 

It's no use, not when Ben isn't here to pick her off the ground, to cradle her in his arms in front of a warm fire and reassure her that she's safe, that everything's alright. She must do her best to pick _him_ off the ground now, to rescue him just as he rescued her.

Rey reluctantly crams the tins and other detritus back into the bag and attaches it more securely to the saddle. She pulls another blanket around her shoulders and steps back up onto Star's back, nudging him forward once more.

The sun is nearly at its zenith, but she thinks she knows the direction from which it rose; that would be east. If she can simply orient herself generally north, they should run into the rail line that runs west along the Platte. Eventually.

The rain catches up with them a little after noon. Rey covers herself with the blankets as best she can, propping the fabric over her bonnet so she can still see. She's used to being wet and miserable, though she's grown soft over the last year, indulged as she's been with a hot stove and a warm bed and sturdy clothing.

Her mind wanders as they trudge on and on. The grasses are so pale in places they shine brightly against the dark sky, like heaven and earth have been flipped. She fancies herself crossing an alien sea, on the way to rescue her love, battling the elements and the monsters that lurk therein, combatting her own discomfort and terror to press ever onward.

Is she Odysseus, trying in vain for years and years to return to his wife, diverted away, again and again? Or is she Orpheus, gone to the underworld to save his bride, only to lose her of his own gratification, his overwhelming hunger to gaze once more on his lover's face?

Oh, but she can understand him now, his anxious, impatient desire. How she aches to see Ben's face, what she would not give to cup his cheek and gaze tenderly into his eyes, to see him smile at her and hear his voice and run her fingers through his hair. The ache in her chest expands until it leaves her breathless, consuming every inch inside her, swelling to fill the vast space of the prairie stretched out before her. When water wets her cheeks she does not know if her improvised shield to ward off the rain has been breached or if it is her own tears running down her face.

There's noise in the distance that makes Rey snap her head forward again. Was it a shout? A faint echo of hooves? Rey looks up, squinting through the rain, and clutches the shotgun tighter. Outlaws? 

Would they even be worse than the wolves?

A small figure appears on the horizon, blurred by the downpour. He's quite tall, she thinks. But– no, he's simply on a horse. Another figure, shorter– no, a cow. And another, and another. Many cows. Another man on a horse...

A cattle drive.

Relief floods through her. Cowboys are a bit rough, but they're not all bad. Finn is a good man, and his comrades, the times Rey has met them, have been kind in passing. She ought to be on her guard, but at the very least she hasn't happened upon a band of thieves. Perhaps the cowboys might point her in the direction of a train depot.

"Hello!" She waves wildly, nudging Star into a quicker trot toward them.

She seems to have gotten their attention. Their heads tilt, watching her approach. There's four of them. No, five. One is a ways further back, bringing up the rear of the herd.

"Hello, there!" she calls again once she's ridden close enough. She has to raise her voice over the din of the rain; it cracks a little. "I'm in need of some assistance!"

They consider her, a bit warily, from their horses. As she draws nearer she can hear their conversation, fast and unintelligible. It's a moment before she realizes they're speaking another language.

"I'm Rey," she says, not sure whether they can understand her. "Reyna Sands. I'm looking for the nearest train depot, if you wouldn't mind–"

There's a shout from the rear of the herd; the fifth man is riding toward them, parting the cattle like the Red Sea.

"Hey-yo!" he calls.

He's a colored man, unlike the others. As he draws nearer Rey can see he has a surprisingly youthful look to his face, with no whiskers to speak of at all. He turns to the other men and says something rapidly in their tongue. Perhaps they're speaking Spanish.

His tone seems to indicate that he's in charge of the operation, despite his youth, and the others grumble in acquiescence, urging their horses on to circle around the herd and drive the cattle on. The man turns to Rey.

"I'm Jann," he says in English. "Are you in trouble?"

"I– no, I mean, well yes, I suppose –" Rey shakes a bit of rain out of her eyes, speaking up so he can hear her. "I've lost my compass. I'm trying to get to the nearest train depot. Do you know where that would be?"

Jann nods slowly. "We're heading to the Kearney depot, to put the cattle on a train back East." He pauses for a moment, taking her in; his exacting gaze reminds her of Ben when she first met him. "You can come along with us, if you like. We're aiming to arrive tomorrow."

Rey considers this. It makes her a little uneasy, traveling with strangers, but really it's the best she could have hoped for. 

"That's awfully kind of you," she tells him. "Thank you."

"It's real hard, being a woman traveling alone on the prairie," Jann says. He speaks with a surprising amount of conviction.

"Yes, I suppose it is." Rey's not sure what else to say.

"Guess we'll get a move on then," Jann tells her. "Keep up with the herd. We'll make camp in a few hours, eat some grub."

"Alright." Rey smiles a little, though she's not sure he can see. She nudges Star to start walking again. 

Jann clicks his tongue at his own horse and circles back to the rear of the herd. Rey watches him as he goes.

It's not as if the rain has stopped or the riding has become less tough, but she feels a bit lighter, traveling with the drive. She has a plan now, and she's finally making progress in the right direction. 

She studies the cattle, while they ride. Longhorns, likely destined for Chicago. A pang hits her, thinking of her own cows, M'Lady and Delilah and Bessie, left out in the field for the night, likely in pain from not being milked, munching grass next to the smoldering ruin of the house. 

Oh, the _house_. All their fine things, their _home_. The fire flashes before Rey's eyes, all their work going up in smoke. Their plans and dreams and hopes consumed, just as the new pine boards. Her nice dresses, her dragonfly necklace. Their pots and pans and new china. The feather bed and the pretty quilt. Ben's mother's trunk. 

Her heart hurts for it all. The objects of their life together.

But Ben matters more. The house and their things are all just trappings, just the shell of their marriage. _Ben_ is home.

The rain lets up as the sun sets until it's clear and cool and the rays of the sunset filter through in stunning pinks and oranges, like they've been inspired by the grasses on the prairie. The drive continues on until dusk fully settles, and then Jann and the others find a flat bit of ground and unsaddle their horses, pulling a skillet and tins of food from their packs.

Rey pulls Star to a halt alongside them, gingerly swinging her leg over the saddle and jumping to the ground, making sure to unsaddle him and brush him down as best she can with one of the blankets. 

"Here."

Rey turns around to find Jann holding out a stiff, bristled brush.

"Thank you," she says, offering a smile in return.

The other cowboys are making some sort of bean dish over a cow patty fire when she's done with Star, chewing on jerky as they cook.

"Want some?" Jann offers when Rey hands him the brush back.

"Thank you, but I've– I've brought my own food…"

Jann shrugs. 

"We got plenty. Gotta restock in Kearney tomorrow anyhow."

Rey nods, not wanting to offend them by refusing.

"Alright," she says, accepting some jerky. "Thank you." She looks through her saddle bag. Perhaps she can share some of the peach preserves…

Jann watches her while he chews.

"How'd you get out here, then? All by your lonesome?"

Rey chews furiously, swallowing a huge mouthful of jerky, trying to gather her thoughts. What should she tell him? It was absurd, really, everything that had happened. Would he even believe her?

"My– my husband…" she starts. "He was kidnapped."

Jann raises his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. Rey trips over herself to get the next sentence out.

"He drove a man out of town, last spring, you see, and he– the man, that is– he wanted revenge. And well, also there's treasure, but anyhow…"

The whole story pours out of her, and it's like relieving herself in the new flush toilet (it must have burnt with the rest of the house, what a pity), impossible to stop once she's started. She tells him about the house burning, and the wolves, and Ben being in the gang and starting his life anew, and their marriage, and the baby. By the time she's finished she's breathing hard, like she's run a mile or scrubbed at laundry for an hour.

Jann waits until she's done talking, and gives a low whistle. 

"That's quite the tale," he says. 

"Yes, I suppose it is," Rey says, laughing a little. "I'm real sorry, talking so much, I don't mean–"

"It's alright," Jann says. "Don't get a lotta new stories out here, it's nice to hear."

Rey smiles at him. The beans are ready to eat now, and Rey almost coughs herself into a fit when she shoves a big spoonful in her mouth; there's some sort of spice in them she's never had before. She takes smaller mouthfuls between generous sips from her canteen.

"How long have you– I mean, how did you become a cowboy?" Rey asks him. Her cheeks burn a little at her slip-up.

Jann grins.

"You mean, how old am I?"

"No," Rey mumbles, shame-faced. 

"I'm not so old," Jann says, his eyes sparkling a little, "but not so young, either. Just ain't gonna grow any whiskers any time soon." He pauses, chewing some more. "I've been riding horses practically my whole life, down in Texas. Went along on drives, too, since I was real young. Helped with the cooking, mostly. But I liked wrangling cows better, and I'm damn good at it, too."

He scrapes his bowl clean.

"S'pose I'm trying to say, don't really know when I _became_ a cowboy, not really. Never, I guess. Always. You know."

Rey nods. It makes sense.

"Met these old _vaqueros_ couple years back, got to head the drives myself then." He nods over at the other cowboys, who pause in their eating to look at him. One of them asks him something in Spanish, and he answers. It's long-winded, and Rey gets the impression he's telling them her whole story. One of them responds, and he laughs.

"Forten says he's impressed with how you handled the wolves. Don't actually know if I coulda done the same."

"They were _huge_ ," Rey exclaims. "Up to Star's back, I swear–"

Jann nods knowingly. "Buffalo wolves. They take a cow or two sometimes. The Indians swear it only takes two of 'em to bring down a whole buffalo. Aren't too vicious, though, towards men."

Rey shakes her head. "I was so glad to see you. In all honesty, I thought you might've been outlaws, and then I still wasn't sure if that was worse than wandering further on my own…"

"I'm glad it's us you found," Jann says darkly. "Outlaws can be worse than wolves, especially for a woman on her own."

"I know," Rey says quickly. "Just… in the moment…"

Jann nods. One of the _vaqueros_ brings out a guitar and starts to sing. It's a mournful tune, echoing over the vast prairie. The low fire lights up his face, and the guitar. Rey watches him intently, straining her ears, trying to pick out words she recognizes from her Latin lessons.

"It's about a bandit, Leandro Rivera," Jann tells her quietly. "But he's the hero, in the _corrido_ , from back when Texas was its own country."

The sweet song fades into the cool night air and the cowboys go about setting out their bed rolls while Rey does her best with the horse blankets. Perhaps she ought to be more nervous, going to sleep with so many strange men nearby, but they've put her at ease. Tomorrow she would board a train for Berthoud Pass, and she would beat out Hux and his gang in getting there, and then she and Ben would be reunited. She closes her eyes, and falls straight to sleep.

Rey wakes to the smell of coffee and the sound of low chatter. The sun isn't risen, dawn is just a touch of green to the sky. The cowboys have lamps, though, and a fire kindled. They're boiling something in a pot– maybe oats?

"Oh!" she says. They all look over at her. "I– I have peaches, if you like…"

She fumbles through her bag again and pulls the glass jar out, offering it over to them.

One of the _vaqueros_ takes it, holding it up to the lamp, and nods in approval. 

Breakfast is a quick affair, and the camp is struck just as fast; they're all back on their horses before dawn breaks. Rey winces when she seats herself back in the saddle; she's sure she has bruises all over her bottom and thighs. 

She urges Star to a trot, as the cowboys start to drive the cattle on, circling and yodeling. He must be tired, from riding all day yesterday and the day before, and she tries to keep him at the slowest pace while still keeping up with the herd. 

Around noon Jann slows his circling to walk along with her.

"You ride well, astride," Jann tells her. "Even with your skirts."

Rey laughs. "It's not so hard, if they're wide enough."

"I never liked wearing skirts," Jann says. 

Rey frowns. What does he mean? 

He sees her expression and falters a little. 

"I– I mean I– when I was young. I– well, I was raised as a girl."

"Oh," Rey says. It must be a lot easier, traveling the prairie dressed like the man, making a man's wages as a cowboy. "So you're really a woman then?"

"I s'pose," Jann grumbles. He frowns at the ground while their horses walk forward, then shakes his head. "No. No, I'm not. I'm a man. I– I never did like to be a girl. Never did _feel_ like a girl, even when I was young. I think... I think it'd be impossible to make myself a woman, even if I tried."

Rey nods thoughtfully. "It's like you said, you were always a cowboy."

Jann laughs. 

"I s'pose I was." 

They pass some time in companionable silence before Jann kicks his horse forward on another circle around the herd.

They're starting to pass homesteads now; Rey sees a scattering of claim shanties and dug-outs as they ride. A few figures, far off in their fields. Around noon figure looms closer to the trail, a man with a broad hat, lugging oddly shaped stones from the prairie into a big heap. Rey tries to peer closer but can't make head nor tail of it.

"What are those?" she asks Jann when he returns to trot at her side. 

"Buffalo skulls," he tells her. "He's probably gonna sell 'em back East, for fertilizer."

"Buffalo skulls?" Rey's a little discomfited. The pile is so large. "There's so many."

"Army shot a whole lot of 'em," Jann says. "To starve the Indians."

"Oh," Rey says faintly. 

"Used to be enormous herds around here, but the Army got 'em, and I guess the buffalo robe manufacturers got the rest, so…"

Rey thinks to the buffalo robe she and Ben would bring along in their sleigh.

"So there aren't any more?"

"Probably a few, here and there, but I ain't seen any in a good long while…"

Rey watches the man scavenge the enormous skulls, a bit of a chill going up her spine, like the furious voices from the prairie are whispering in her ear. Maybe the prairies hadn't always been so empty.

Kearney is a good sized town, larger than Red Cloud but not nearly so large as Lincoln. There are some stock yards near the depot, and the other cowboys drive them toward the pens. 

"I can't thank you enough," Rey says to Jann as they draw nearer.

"You take care of yourself," he warns her as he rides away. "Hope you find your mister. Keep that gun real close."

It's not the most auspicious parting. Rey tries to wave at the others but they're busy wrangling cattle and don't see her. She drops her hand, urging Star toward the depot office. _Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad_ is printed in bold letters on the building exterior.

There's a single clerk sitting behind the desk when she enters, wearing a pair of spectacles and peering at a sheaf of papers.

"Hello..." Rey says, unsure of how to explain herself.

"Can I help you?" he asks in a nasally voice.

She takes a deep breath. "I need to get to Berthoud Pass. Colorado."

He flips through his papers, dragging a finger down a time table. "Berthoud… Berthoud… I see, here we are. There's a train leaving in an hour for Cheyenne… you'll need to transfer…" 

"Is– is there a way to bring my horse?" Rey interrupts. He fixes her with a stern look.

"We have livestock cars with every train, of course."

"Of course," Rey responds quietly, her voice trailing into nothingness. The man writes up her ticket.

"Your fare is six dollars and seventy-three cents," he tells her.

Panic seizes her. 

Her purse. She'd forgotten completely that she'd lost her purse as well as her compass. 

"Do you issue tickets on credit?" she asks desperately. He raises an eyebrow.

"If I knew who you _were_ ," he answers snidely.

"What about collateral?" She rifles through her pockets, looking for something, _anything_ of value...

Her fingers close on something round and when she pulls it out the little locket with Ben's parents flashes in the weak sunlight that filters in through the new glass windows. She falters.

She can't give up _this_ , the last images Ben will ever get to see of his parents. After being miraculously spared from the fire, how can she sacrifice it now? 

What else could she trade? Anything, _anything_ else… 

The light catches again, this time on the ring on her finger. 

Her stomach hurts. 

Of course. Of course she'd have to sacrifice this, too. Like Orpheus, paying Charon to be ferried to the underworld… 

Miserably she pulls at the ring. Her fingers have swollen over the last few weeks, so it doesn't come off easily. She has to twist and tug and pry it from her finger. Tears well up a bit in her eyes.

"Would… would this be enough?" Her voice is small and high and scratchy and she hates it more than anything.

The company man stares at her, but she's too numb to feel shame. If she turns back now none of it will have been worth it. She must get there. She must.

"I– that should be alright, Miss," he says, clearing his throat. "Er, I mean, Mrs–?"

"Solo," Rey says in little more than a whisper. She lets the ring fall into his open palm.

"We'll issue you a receipt, of course," he tells her. "We're not in the business of robbing our customers of their valuables."

Rey nods, staring at the floor while he issues her her ticket and the receipt. Her finger feels oddly naked, after months of the cool metal sitting snug against her skin.

"Here you are, Mrs. Solo. If you'll wait on the platform, the train will leave at 5:25."

Rey nods again, accepting her ticket. She pushes the door open and retrieves Star from the hitching post, waiting on the platform as she's been told until the train comes. 

A drizzle of rain has started again. It's a miserable sort of rain, falling in the dusty town, making little rivulets in the dirt streets. 

She hates it. She pats Star's matted mane, gazing out through the mist and dust, and hates everything.

Rey tries to sleep on the train. It's nowhere near as comfortable as the car she rode to Lincoln; the seats are hard and slatted and it's cold inside. Her aches and bruises are making themselves known; it's like her whole body hurts– not just her thighs and bottom but her belly and her breasts and her back and her hands. She's glad she won't face another day of riding; she's not sure she could at this point.

She bundles herself with the saddle blankets, aware that she must look quite the beggar maid. The shotgun and the remaining saddle bag occupy the seat beside her.

She dreams of Ben, high on a mountain top, his back turned to her. 

_Turn around_ , she calls to him, her voice caught on a breeze, thin and eerie, so it travels over the prairie and the craggy hills and the miles to his ear. _Turn around, Papa. Turn around so I might see your face…_

They transfer in Cheyenne in the morning, managing to just catch the next train south to Berthoud.

Despite her aches, Rey feels an incredible sense of relief when they roll into the town. She's really made it. She's finally here. 

Surely she's beaten the gang here; it's been just over three days since they took Ben away, and she doesn't think they could ride quite so quickly across such a long distance, and they couldn't possibly have taken a train. She'll just need to find the sheriff… 

Berthoud is another dusty little frontier town on the prairie, just like all the others, but when the train pulls away from the platform, Rey's mouth drops open.

A long stretch of beige and blueish hills rises in the distance before her, running both north and south as far as the eye can see. Mountains with their rugged peaks come into relief behind them, rising dramatically in staggered curtains. One stands taller by far than any of the rest, like a central jewel in a crown.

After the never-ending flatness of the prairie, the mountains are like a balm for her eyes. Rocks and trees, the clouds framing the peaks like a sort of divine offering. She can't stop her staring; there's just so _much_ –

A man laughs behind her. She whips around.

"Really something, isn't it?" he asks. She nods, pulling Star along on the platform, a little embarrassed she's been caught in her wonder. The man continues. "Don't think I'll ever get over it, to tell you the truth."

Rey smiles reluctantly back at him; he doesn't seem to be making fun of her at least. Perhaps she could ask him where the sheriff is in town. And where the pass is? Maybe she's mistaken but she'd always thought passes were over mountain tops, and Berthoud is as flat as Red Cloud.

"Would you happen to know where the Berthoud Pass sheriff is?" she asks, as politely as she can. Hopefully she can get both her questions answered in one go and be on her way. 

"Berthoud _Pass_?" The man frowns at her. She frowns back– was that the wrong question to ask? He _tsks_ , shaking his head. "Ah shucks, sweetheart, you got your Berthouds mixed up. Berthoud Pass is a good eighty miles from here."

Rey stares at him. "What?"

"Yeah, it's southwest, pretty high up–"

"Is there another train that goes there?" Rey asks frantically. "I need to get there as soon as possible." But how can she? She doesn't even have collateral left, for another ticket. She can't even get back to _Red Cloud_ –

"Damn, I don't– it's a pretty remote area, suppose Boulder'd be your nearest stop, but you'd have to wait til tomorrow for the next train down that way, and then it's a day or two up the canyon, over another pass–"

Rey can't keep herself calm any longer, can't talk herself into believing things will work out. Everything is terrible, everything is falling apart. She's at the end of line now, stuck, no money and no ring, sore and aching, Star exhausted, the house burned down, Ben with those murderous thieves, and no one in Red Cloud the wiser as to where they've gone–

" _FUCK!_ " Rey explodes, throwing her hands up, stamping her feet on the boards of the platform. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

The man holds up his hands. "Hey kid, calm down, it's alright…"

"No it's not!" she tells him hotly. "Everything is _not_ alright!"

Red-eyed, she tugs Star to the stairs off the platform. She has no idea what she'll do. Perhaps she'll go lay in a field and stare at the mountains and be miserable in peace until she dies.

A hand catches her shoulder, and Rey finds herself being turned around by the man from the platform. She glares up at his face but he doesn't back down, holding her out at arms length. He's older, with silvered hair, but he seems like he might've been a looker in his youth. There's something oddly familiar about him; Rey can't put her finger on it.

"Let's just talk it through, alright? I'm sure we can figure something out. What's your name, kid?"

"Reyna Sands," she says dully, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She flashes back to all the potential families she'd said that to when she was on the orphan train, who didn't want her. Until Ben–

Wait, that's not her name anymore. "I mean–" she shifts and the saddle blanket falls from her shoulders; she scrambles to pick it up. When she straightens again, the man's gaze is caught on her belly. 

Rey pinches her face tighter, wrapping the blanket around her abdomen. Is she really going to have to deal with this _again_ –

"Look, I'll tell you what, sweetheart," the man says slowly, a queer expression on his face. "I can get you to Boulder at least, if you don't mind going along with a wagon. I ought to be going back down that way anyhow."

"I can't pay you," Rey says, staring down at the dusty boards.

"Don't worry about that." He studies her a moment longer. "I gotta wait for my partner, but you can sit in the wagon in the meanwhile. If you like."

Rey nods numbly, pulling Star along after him down the stairs to the street below. Perhaps she shouldn't trust yet another stranger, but what options does she have? 

"Thank you, sir," she mumbles as they walk along.

He laughs. 

" _Sir_." He says it like it's an insult. "I'm more of a scoundrel than just about anyone, sweetheart." He grins at her, and she's put a bit more at ease. Something about the way his eyes crinkle–

"Sorry," she mumbles, smiling a little in spite of herself. "What should I call you then?"

He halts in front of a sturdy wagon, already partway full of sacks and lumber. The view from this dusty side street is as breath-taking as the one from the platform, and Rey's lost momentarily in the mid-morning light, shafts gleaming through the clouds to illuminate barns and patches of prairie grass. 

The man turns around, sticking out his hand so she can shake it. 

"Name's Han, kid." His hands are broad and callused under her own, and his handshake is firm. "Han Organa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Egregious hero's journey comparisons. Period-typical but potentially gender non-affirming language to a trans man. Rey does more old-timey hitchhiking than my mom did in the seventies. Somehow, Han (Organa) has returned.**
> 
> Here's an 1881 [railway map](https://www.loc.gov/item/98688625/). Rey has to take a train all the way to Cheyenne and back south to Berthoud because the line directly from Red Cloud to Denver wasn't yet completed in 1881. Kearney was a big cow depot in Nebraska in this era according to this history of [Nebraskan cowboys](https://history.nebraska.gov/sites/history.nebraska.gov/files/doc/publications/NH2013Cowboys.pdf). 
> 
> Here is a brief history of [_vaqueros_](https://www.thestoryoftexas.com/discover/campfire-stories/vaqueros), the original cowboys (buccaneers is probably a bastardization of the word _vaquero_ ), specifically from the Texas/Mexico border region. Cowboys in the United States were from all backgrounds– white, Black, Mexican, and Native American– and often worked in integrated crews; their [music](https://www.npr.org/2010/12/05/131761541/we-ve-all-heard-cowboy-songs-but-who-were-the-cowboys) reflects this.
> 
> The [_corrido_](https://borderlore.org/running-tales-for-the-times/) is a popular musical genre of Mexico's oral tradition, and is a descriptive narrative, or "running" account, written in verse and put to music. _Corridos_ usually serve a socially relevant purpose, as a narrative or educational outlet. [_Corrido de Leandro Rivera_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0iEp4ULXik&feature=youtu.be) dates from 1841 and may be the oldest Texan _corrido_. This version was [recorded ](https://blogs.loc.gov/folklife/2015/09/corridos-of-the-border/) in 1939 as part of an effort to document folk music of the border region.
> 
> Please read this fascinating article on the [Forgotten Trans History of the Wild West](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/trans-history-wild-west). I adapted some of Jann's lines in this from those of a real Victorian trans man, Harry Allen, who described his discomfort with his assigned sex to a newspaper in 1908. I was trying to have the language that Jann (and Rey) use reflect the way Victorians would have talked about the subject, but I hope I haven't caused offense to any trans readers. Happy to discuss more on Twitter or in the comments. Forten is the only other named character from [Company 77](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Company_77).
> 
> Rey is traveling through ceded Pawnee territory for the majority of this chapter, but the [Sioux War of 1876](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Sioux_War_of_1876) was fought partially in Nebraska. I wanted to give the sense that she is in some ways traveling through a sort of post-apocalyptic landscape. The buffalo herds were indeed [hunted](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bison_hunting#19th_century_bison_hunts_and_near_extinction) nearly to extinction, in part as a means of forcing the Native American tribes onto reservations; this was environmental devastation as a means of genocide. 
> 
> The wolf scene was taken from _Little House on the Prairie_ ; the [Buffalo wolf](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Plains_wolf) was extinct by the 1920's.
> 
> There is a new [American Masters](https://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/laura-ingalls-wilder-documentary/15197/) episode about Laura Ingalls Wilder, which I thought was worth the watch. Thanks to kalx58 for telling me about it!
> 
> I haven't been home in over a year now, so I sent Rey to Colorado for me, motivated entirely by my own homesickness. Get ready for gratuitous imagery descriptions and extremely specific location picture references. [This](https://fineartamerica.com/featured/fall-splendor-front-range-featuring-14259-longs-peak-phyllis-dwyer.html) is roughly the view Rey sees when she disembarks from the train in Berthoud; the tall mountain she sees is Longs Peak.
> 
> I think I probably sound like a broken record at this point, but I hope everyone is staying safe. I have nothing really to say about the events of Wednesday except fuck Trump and prosecute all of those fuckers to the fullest extent of the law; I think history can tell us that appeasement doesn't work. I will note that I rage tweeted enough to accidentally trick a blue checkmark political pundit into following me; jury's still out on whether he'll appreciate spicy Reylo fanfic.
> 
> Love you all!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes.
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/189168310@N08/50818612478/in/dateposted-public/)

Rey watches the clouds above the tall peak in the distance, the dark grey roiling and churning, momentarily obscuring the snow capped point and then leaving it to be illuminated with brilliant sunlight. The sky is bigger here, somehow; the horizon holds distances Rey couldn't possibly walk in a day. She scans her gaze south down the row of peaks, so neatly ordered, held abruptly at bay from the stretch of planes before them– a row of dutiful soldiers, a crashing wave frozen at its zenith. Which one of them holds Berthoud Pass? If she could squint hard enough, could she see Ben? Scrambling like an ant over distant boulders and basins of snow?

"Hey, kid."

Rey turns in the wagon seat back toward the town. Mr. Organa– (Han?)– is back with a few additional sacks tossed over his shoulder, and behind him–

Behind him must be the tallest man Rey's ever seen. His black hair is streaked through with grey and tied back under a colorful scarf, a feather tucked neatly into one of the folds just brushing his aged, tawny cheek. He wears buckskin pants, like Mr. Organa, but his jacket is brighter– a spotted blue fabric trimmed in red ribbon. He too carries a few sacks slung over his shoulder, the rifle on his back attached by a wide, cross-body strap.

Without a doubt, this man is an Indian.

"This is Chewbacca," Mr. Organa tells her. "My partner."

There's something in the way he says it, like he's daring her to object to traveling with the man. However this mis-matched pair ended up together, it isn't a casual acquaintance.

"Hello," Rey says carefully. 

She's never met an Indian before, only read about them in the papers– hair-raising tales of scalpings and raids on frontier farms, grand battles with the army. But they were all gone from Red Cloud before she moved West on the orphan train. 

Did they starve when the army shot all the buffalo?

The man nods back at her, heaving the sacks on his shoulders onto the wagon bed. Rey stands to exit the seat, wincing a little as she jumps down to the ground. Just when she thought she was free from the saddle, she instead faces yet another day on Star's back.

_And another day or two up a canyon_ , she thinks hopelessly. 

She shakes her head. No, that won't do. She must only focus on the present moment. She can't allow herself to be pulled under by another wave of despair.

"Sweetheart–"

Rey whips her head around, but it's only Mr. Organa, looking at her with some concern. Oh, she wishes he wouldn't call her that. It stabs deep into her heart to hear it, knowing it isn't coming from Ben's lips. Oh _Ben_ –

She shakes her head again, trying to focus on each step to Star. Her vision is a little blurry; the lack of rest must really be catching up with her. Her hand is on the reins and she raises her foot to put it in the stirrup, but it's hard to aim. Mr. Organa is saying something else to her, but it's like his voice is underwater, echo-y, his words indiscernible–

A pair of hands are bracing her upper back, and Rey blinks and looks around. Mr. Organa is there and she realizes he's holding her up. She shakes her head yet again, righting herself.

"I said, you can ride in the wagon," he tells her, peering into her face.

"Oh," she says faintly. That would probably be for the best. She nods. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem," he says. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," she says. "Only... could I put his saddle in the back as well? We've been riding for three days and I'm worried he'll get sores."

"Three days?" He looks like he has a lot of questions about that, but only shakes his own head. "Sure, kid."

Rey turns around to unbuckle the straps on Star's saddle and everything goes black.

The clouds are jostling above her when she opens her eyes. They're dark grey, but the sky is bright somehow, hard to look at. She squeezes her eyes closed again, trying to block out the diffuse, harsh light.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Rey cracks her eyes again, squinting through her lashes. A man's form comes blurrily into view, and Rey realizes that she's lying in the wagon seat, her head propped up on a rolled blanket, her body rocking gently with the motion of the wheels over the rutted track. The man is walking alongside the horses.

"Drink some water," he tells her. What was his name? Han… something. "Careful when you sit up. There you go." Rey gulps the water greedily; she's thirstier than she'd realized.

"Got some jerky too if you want."

Rey nods gratefully, shoving the jerky in her mouth. She'd eaten on the train, but her stores had run low, and she didn't have a knife with which to open the tins.

"Thank you," she tells him after swallowing. Her voice is hoarse. "I– I do apologize–"

But Han just waves her off, offering her another piece of jerky. She chews this piece slowly, absentmindedly soothing her swollen belly with her free hand, and looks around at the landscape. They've left the little town behind on a road running parallel to the row of mountains. The sun is higher in the sky now, behind the clouds; the grey threatens them with rain.

Chewbacca has ridden a little ahead of them on his horse, but doubles back now. He nods at her when he sees her sitting in the wagon seat, digging in a bag hanging from his waist and throwing her an apple. She catches it and flashes him a grateful grin.

"So… three days riding, huh?" Han asks her casually, after what she imagines he's deemed an appropriate pause.

"Erm, yes," Rey responds, chewing her apple. "I– to get to the train depot– in Nebraska, you see–"

Her explanation makes little sense, she knows, but the truth won't make any sense either, and she's coming to question how much she should tell them. It had been so easy to confide in Jann, but that feels like a lifetime ago now, when she thought things would be sorted as soon as she took the train to Berthoud, and she'd been well and with her own means of transportation. Now she's ill, and dependent, and it's not unreasonable to think that these men might not _let_ her leave for Berthoud Pass if she lets on there's a murderous gang in the mix. No, she ought to keep it simple.

"I– I need to find my husband, as soon as possible. He's– he ought to be in Berthoud Pass."

"He left you on your own?" Han frowns at her. 

"No! He didn't– he didn't want to. He was– called away. On urgent business."

"Uh huh." 

Han looks at her skeptically, his eyes dropping quickly to her belly and back to her face. Perhaps he thinks she's invented a husband, to explain away her delicate condition? Well, let him think that; she's at least confident in Ben's existence.

"You don't have a side saddle," he says after a pause.

"No." Rey doesn't know what to say to that. 

"Guess a lot of women probably ride astride out here."

"I suppose," she says. "My husband taught me."

Han shoots her another side-glance and they lapse into silence. Rey stares at the mountains for a long while. They change seemingly with every step they take, the foothills and the back peaks moving like independent curtains, and the clouds swirling still, moving toward them in a sweeping veil.

"We'll get some rain," Chewbacca says. His voice is deep and Rey can't place his accent. Han swings up into the wagon seat without missing a beat, rummaging in the back and handing her a broad oilcloth.

"Here, kid," he says, and she takes the cloth, draping it over her head. The rain patters down a few minutes later, until it's a heavy shower and the water sluices off the oil cloth and puddles at her feet. This continues for a half hour or so and then the rain stops as abruptly as it started.

"How far is Boulder?" she asks them.

"Another… fifteen miles, or so? Just about."

Rey nods, trying to think of something to say, to make conversation. She hasn't been the best travel companion, certainly. "Do you… go there often?"

The men exchange glances, and Han gives a humorless chuckle.

"Not as often as I should, kid."

"Oh." What does he mean? She's asked the wrong thing somehow. Awkwardly she fumbles around for a different topic of conversation. "Have you both been… partners… for a while?"

They both laugh at that, and she's relieved to hear some levity.

"For too long," Chewbacca says, but his tone is lighthearted.

"For… forty years, just about? Is that right?"

"Too long," Chewbacca repeats.

"How did you meet?" Rey asks, happy to have landed on a good subject. 

Both men fall silent.

"He broke me out of prison," Chewbacca says finally, his voice solemn. 

"Oh," Rey says faintly. "I'm–" Glad? Sorry? "That's really–"

"We broke out together," Han interjects. "I was in on smuggling charges–"

"And I was near-dead with quinsy, but do go on about how we broke out 'together'–"

Rey glances at the back of the wagon. Are they still smugglers?

"–won't ever stop arguing this point, will you–"

"Were you… in on smuggling charges too?" she asks Chewbacca.

"No," he says, looking ahead of them down the wagon track. His horse lopes along by the side of the wagon. "I was a prisoner of war."

"Bastards betrayed his truce flag," Han spits. "Absolutely disgraceful."

"Which war?" Rey frowns. Forty years was long before the civil war between the North and the South.

"It was a small war," Chewbacca tells her. "My people were being forced to leave our home."

Rey feels cold. "Where was your home?" 

"Florida," he says. "Back before it became a state."

He tells her of his family, his two wives and their children, being forced to move to smaller and smaller patches of land in the swamps of Florida before being told they were all to be relocated west of the Mississippi. 

"We fought, and we knew the swamps better than the soldiers did, but there were more of them. We couldn't last. When I went to negotiate a peace talk, they ignored my white flag, took me captive. When I became ill, I thought I would die, but then I woke up on this man's ship." He gestures toward Han. "He was a boy then. But I owed him my life."

"What happened to–" Rey begins, but Han subtly shakes his head, and she snaps her mouth shut.

They pass through another town and stop to water the horses. Rey stands cautiously. She still feels a bit woozy, and leans against the wagon, carefully sipping some water from her canteen which Han graciously fills for her at a well. Chewbacca goes into a nearby shop.

"His wives both died," Han tells her quietly. "On the way to the Indian Territory."

"Oh," Rey says. "I didn't mean to–"

"I know." Han looks at her, and then looks toward the shop where Chewbacca is speaking to the man behind the counter. "I wasn't kidding, when I said we escaped together. I pretended to be a guard, moving the Indian war chief out of the fort. It wouldn't've worked without him."

They all eat little meat pies when Chewbacca comes back, sheltering under a small overhang while the town is deluged in another brief shower, and then they're on the track again, moving closer and closer to the mountains, racing the sun as it starts to sink toward the tallest peaks. 

Rey begins to wonder where she'll sleep that night. Perhaps there's a field somewhere near town, where the owner wouldn't mind her building a fire and curling up next to Star? Her back protests at the thought of spending another night on the ground, but she doubts she'll see a bed again any time soon. Even once she's found Ben, they'll still have to return to Red Cloud, and even then, well, their fine, feather bed must be ashes by now. The Damerons' barn never looked so comfortable...

"Would you happen to know of a good place to camp?" she asks Han. He doesn't look at her, focusing on the pitted track to avoid a particularly deep hole. 

"I know a place in town," he says. There's a bit of tension in his shoulders when he says it.

"Oh," she says, a little disappointed. She supposes someone's yard would be alright, but she'd had visions of waking up in a field and staring at the bluish hills and having a moment of peace before she started up the canyon. Which canyon? There must be dozens... she'll have to ask him before they part ways. Food, of course, is a thorny issue, but she still has the tins she brought from the root cellar, she just needs a knife with which to open them. Even a sharp nail might do the trick, if she could find a good stone… 

"Just about there," he tells her, as they crest a small ridge and she can see the town spread below them. A dense line of foliage bisects the orderly grid of houses, and Rey thinks there must be a creek that runs through the center. She can see a large building that stands quite alone on a hill on the other side, dramatically silhouetted in the gathering dusk.

It's another half hour before they find their way past the outlying farms and into the urban center. Rey looks about with undisguised interest. The wagon wends and winds its way through the dusty streets, passing wooden buildings with their false fronts, and sturdier brick ones as well. Boulder is a bustling little town, far bigger than Red Cloud, though not nearly so large as Lincoln. The mountains loom large behind them, their queer flat faces reminding her of her flat irons, so close Rey's sure she could simply walk to the top of the nearest peak if she had a mind to. 

They finally pull to a stop in front of a large, stately brick home with a triangular pediment overlooking a second floor balcony, and twin chimneys crowning the roof. 

Rey's a bit shocked; who could Han, a self-described scoundrel, know who would live _here_?

Han jumps from the wagon street, looking back at her and jerking his head toward the front door, his face just a touch grim. "C'mon, kid," he tells her, "I'll introduce you to my wife."

Rey's eyebrows shoot up. His _wife_?

She looks about at Chewbacca and he meets her gaze, an amused expression on his face, like he knows exactly what she's thinking. She shakes her head, watching Han go to the front door and pull it open like he owns the place.

_He_ does _own the place._

Well then, hopefully he'll let her stay in the yard, and she'll have more time to ask about canyons and whatnot.

She stands shakily in the wagon seat, gripping the board that makes up the backrest and gingerly maneuvering herself down to the circular brick drive. Even this motion is exhausting, and she stands for a moment, leaning heavily against the wagon frame, trying to catch her breath. Now, she just needs to get to Star, and–

The brick walk comes up fast; it takes her a moment to register that she's on the ground.

" _Ah_ ," she says to herself belatedly. Her cheek stings, but she's not worried about that. She wraps her arms protectively around her belly, trying to feel assess if there's any pain–

"Oh dear." A woman's voice comes, and a soft hand touches her forehead. Rey looks up at her, unable to get her face into focus. "Can you sit up?"

Rey nods, bracing her belly with one hand and propping herself into a sitting position with the other. She can hear the woman suck in a breath.

"You _just_ met her, Han?" Her voice is sharp.

"I met her today– _Jesus_ Leia–"

Han's voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the wagon, tight and unhappy.

"Let's get you inside, dear," the woman says to her. "Chewie? Would you mind–?"

Chewbacca stoops next to her, gently lifting her in his arms. Rey curls into his shoulder, feeling nauseous with the motion. Drat, why did she become ill _now_ –

Inside the house she finds herself on a daybed, a fluffy pillow beneath her head. The little sitting room is handsomely decorated; it's far finer than any house she's been into in Red Cloud… 

"–send for Dr. Kalonia–" the woman, Leia, is saying. Rey shuts her eyes against the whole situation and turns her face in toward the pillow, willing herself to sleep.

She wakes in a dimly lit room, in a real bed. A new woman is in the corner with a bowl and some rags.

_The fall_ –

Rey sits bolt upright and cradles her belly, slightly panicked. 

The woman looks around, bustling over with the damp rags. "Don't worry, dearie. I'm Dr. Kalonia. Just try to calm yourself, alright?"

This woman is the doctor?

"What happened?" Rey croaks. "Is my baby alright?"

She finds she's wearing a nightgown, rather than the skirt and blouse she traveled in. _I must have been filthy_ , she realizes with a stab of shame. 

"You have a low fever," Dr. Kalonia tells her. "But I believe you are merely suffering from exhaustion. No bleeding– your baby is perfectly well."

"Thank the Lord," Rey whispers, swallowing a lump in her throat. She rests back against the pillow. 

"I'll bring you some beef tea, and then you ought to try and sleep again."

Rey nods mutely at her and she bustles out of the room. A pair of low voices come from the hallway.

"–say where she was from–?"

"–somewhere in Nebraska was all I could get out of her. Poor thing was so set on getting to Berthoud Pass, said her husband was going to meet her there–"

A third voice cuts in. "And we all know how trustworthy _husbands_ can be–"

"Leia…"

Leia hisses something back, but the bickering is too low for Rey to hear and she shuts her eyes once again.

She sleeps on and off for what feels like days, waking only for some broth or toast, sometimes left while she sleeps, sometimes lifted to her lips by the woman, Leia. She dreams fitfully of Ben while she sleeps, and frets about lost time when she wakes, but there's no way she could travel in her current state.

On what must be the third day she wakes to mid-morning light feeling a bit clearer, able to sit up when Leia brings in a tray of food.

"Hello," Rey says, clumsily settling herself against the pillows. "Thank you for– I'm sorry to be such a bother–"

"Not at all, dear," Leia says, smiling down at her, brushing the back of her hand across Rey's forehead. "Your fever's down."

Rey smiles back hesitantly, nodding a little. Leia hands her a cup of broth from the little tray, and perches herself delicately on the quilt; it's similar to the one that used to be in the claim shanty. 

_Gone_ , Rey reminds herself. _All gone…_

Leia smiles at her; Rey can almost feel her questions burning beneath the surface.

"So you've come from... Nebraska?"

"Oh!" Rey swallows a small sip of the broth. "Yes, from Red Cloud…" She pauses, thinking of her odd three day ride that she can't begin to explain away. "... or thereabouts…"

"Is there anyone we can write to, to let them know you're here?"

"Oh, yes! I ought to– Pastor Poe Dameron, I suppose, would be best…"

Leia nods, looking at her seriously. "But he isn't your husband?"

"No– my husband– I need to find– he's, he ought to be in Berthoud Pass. I need to go there myself to–"

She trails away, staring at the enormous gaps in her story. If she's meant to meet her husband in Berthoud Pass, why would she not simply write to him, to tell him she's been delayed? Come to think of it, why oughtn't she write to the Berthoud Pass sheriff from here? To let him know to look out for the gang? 

But perhaps the letter is lost? Or he doesn't take her seriously? No, she _must_ go there herself. It's the only way. She glances up at Leia. This woman certainly won't let her ride off after a gang, she must be very careful in how she words things, or she'll be stuck here. She can only hope Pastor Dameron won't set out as soon as he receives the letter, to collect her back home… 

"How old are you, dear?" Leia asks her gently.

"Sixteen," Rey mutters, looking down at her broth. Leia nods like she expected as much, her expression grim.

"Do you know when you're… expecting?" she asks delicately.

"Erm, I'm not exactly sure…" Rey trails off. Old lady Maz hadn't been very clear, only said she'd have a winter baby. She sighs, looking sadly at her left hand; she doesn't even have a ring as proof of her nuptials. She knows how she must look to a woman like Leia: young, poor, in a delicate condition, and apparently abandoned by her husband, if he ever existed in the first place.

What a mess.

Leia smiles gently at her again, carefully standing. She's tiny; at least a head shorter than Rey.

"I'll let you finish your broth and get some more rest. If you feel up to it you're welcome to join us in the parlor later; I can help you down the stairs."

She leaves, closing the door with a soft _click_ behind her. Rey does as she's told, finishing the food offered on the tray, but when she's eaten everything she shoves the blankets aside, swinging her legs over to dangle off the edge of the bed. She must improve as quickly as she can. She's not sure how long it would take the gang to ride across all that prairie, but she knows her time is dwindling to intervene.

The first few steps are wobbly, but she feels a bit stronger than she did the day she collapsed. She paces back and forth in her stockinged feet, frustrated when she has to pause to catch her breath, squeaking in alarm when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the wash bowl. 

Her hair is quite lank and unkempt, her face greasy. A scrape is healing on her cheek overtop a darkening bruise. She hurries to scrub herself with the clean rags and soap she finds, then combs through her tangled hair, braiding it neatly. Her fringe still hangs limp, but she supposes there's not much to be done about that until she can set it again properly. She blows it out of her eyes, scowling when it falls right back. Drat Rose and her fashionable styling.

There's a dressing gown draped over the end of the bed frame, and Rey shrugs this over her nightgown, feeling at least a bit cleaner. Leia said she'd help her with the stairs, but Rey will have to manage on her own if she's to go and find Ben way up in the mountains. She grasps the doorknob and pushes the door open into the hallway.

There's a bannistered stairway down the hall. She moves gingerly toward it, assessing every step. A low murmur of voices come from below, and she follows them down.

"Hello?" Rey pauses at the doorway to the room. Is it really polite to sit in such a nice parlor, in this state of dress? Perhaps she ought to go back up...

"Oh!" Leia says, peering out at her, standing to help her to a great, winged armchair. "I would have helped you, dear. Come and sit by the fire, there we are."

She allows Leia to fuss over her, tucking a blanket in around her shoulders and shoving slippers onto her feet. There are two other ladies in the parlor, and they both peer goodnaturedly at her from a handsome sofa. She recognizes one of them as the doctor who attended her a few days prior.

"You've met Dr. Kalonia, of course, and this is Mrs. Amilyn Holdo. Amilyn, this is Mrs. Reyna S–"

There's a knock on the door to the parlor and Leia is briefly distracted as a maid brings in a tray with little sandwiches and a handsome tea set, all in a delicate bone china. Rey stares at them sadly, thinking of her own bone china, lost to the flames.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Kalonia asks her.

"Much better," Rey says politely, accepting a cup of tea. "Thank you for looking after me so well." She turns toward Leia. "And for your hospitality–"

"You're quite welcome, dear," Leia says kindly. "We're all just glad you're feeling better."

The women turn their chat back to what they must have been discussing before she came down, some ladies' organization they all head. Rey drinks her tea slowly, managing a few cucumber sandwiches as well, which she tries to eat as daintily as possible. Their cause must be temperance, she decides; teetotalers, just like Pastor Dameron. 

"–ought to pressure the addition of a bylaw at the university, we oughtn't have drunkards for professors–"

"–quite agree–"

"Which university?" Rey asks before she can stop herself. All three look over to her.

"The University of Colorado," Leia tells her. "It's the large building above the creek– you might've seen it when you drove in?"

"I did," Rey nods. "I didn't know there was a university here. It's for all of Colorado, you said?"

"Yes," Mrs. Holdo says. "They awarded it to Boulder just before we achieved statehood. Thank goodness, the other possibility was a prison…"

She shudders. 

"Are women permitted to attend?" Rey asks.

"Yes," Leia says. She eyes Rey almost critically, like she's reassessing her somehow. "Many schools are allowing women these days."

"I know," Rey enthuses. "I was meant to– I mean, I sat the entrance exam for the University of Nebraska, in Lincoln, you know…"

"Really?" Leia's eyebrows raise. 

"What did you wish to study?" Dr. Kalonia asks her.

"Oh, I don't know…" Rey demures. "There's so many interesting– I quite like Shakespeare, you know, and poetry, but oh, there's so much of history to learn! I don't know how one could even begin to exhaust the subject! We ordered a few books in the summer, after I realized I was– But, all the Roman generals, and the emperors! How clever they were! Bloodthirsty, of course, but oh, what a thrill to read about them… I've been trying to work through the Aeneid in Latin too, which I know isn't a proper history, but… And that's only the classical set, isn't it? There's all the new modern sciences, too, I shouldn't even know where to begin…"

She throws her hands up, daydreaming again about a big hall, of taking furious notes about a dizzying array of subjects. How could she know what to study, when she doesn't have a basic knowledge of the options?

The other three women are all staring at her, and Rey blushes, retreating back into the armchair; she's made a fool of herself.

"Reyna," Leia says after a pause, a shrewd look on her face. She leans forward in her own armchair, something conspiratorial in her tone. "Would you like to see our library?"

Rey is hardly able to contain her excitement around the handsome tomes filling the shelves. Leia and the other ladies encourage her to take one or two to peruse, eagerly suggesting pamphlets and novels– novels!– for her to read. She's torn this way and that, unable to choose, until Dr. Kalonia presses a book by one Currer Bell into her hand.

"You'll like the protagonist," she tells Rey, and after a bit of rousing argument the ladies all agree on _Jane Eyre_ and Rey carries it out of the library happily, along with a half-dozen pamphlets on temperance and suffrage, marriage, and motherhood.

Her clothes are laid out on her bed, freshly laundered, when she returns, and she slumps down on the quilt, catching her breath, winded after climbing the stairs. 

Oh, she must get better as quickly as she can, she must!

She's been invited down to dinner and so sets about changing, though she knows her things are not half so nice as they ought to be to dine with company. At least they're clean. 

There's a hard object in the bottom of one of the pockets, and when Rey fishes it out she finds Ben's locket. Relief floods through her; at least she still has this. She worries it with her thumb, dropping it back into the folds.

A knock on the door sounds, and she opens it to find Leia in the hallway, changed into a smart evening dress.

"Your skirt is lovely, dear," Leia tells her, tucking Rey's arm into her own. "It reminds me of… well I've always been partial to damask."

"Thank you." Rey blushes, assuming she's being paid a polite compliment. The skirt was made from one of the dresses from the trunk, and kept intentionally wide so that Rey could ride while wearing it. It's certainly not fashionable. 

Her face brightens when they step into the dining room to see Han and Chewbacca, both cleaner than they were on the trail, dressed in black Sunday suits. 

"Hey, kid," Han greets her with a grin. "You look a lot better."

"Han!" Leia scolds him.

"It's true!" he protests. "Except for the shiner. Should've helped you out of the wagon…"

"It's okay," Rey smiles, taking her seat.

The supper isn't especially lavish, much to Rey's relief. Just stewed steak and vegetables, with good white bread on the side. She takes care to chew with her mouth closed.

The conversation is light. Han and Leia seem to be trying to maintain civility, but the tension in the room is palpable. Rey tries to keep a pleasant smile on her face, unsure of what to say.

"Your horse is doing much better," Chewbacca tells her between mouthfuls.

"Hmm?" She looks up at him, processing what he's said. "Oh... Oh! Star! I can't believe I forgot to ask about– I'm so glad he's alright–"

"You were quite unwell, dear," Leia tells her. "I think it's certainly understandable…"

"I know…" Rey says. "I just– he's done so much for me. And, oh, I feel horrid for asking, but do you think he'll be fit to ride again soon?"

"Think he's as fit as he can be…"

"But _you're_ not fit to ride!" There's a note of suppressed alarm in Leia's voice; she reaches across the table to take Rey's hand. "You've only just gotten out of bed. And you must be cautious, just think of your baby…"

"I know," Rey says, looking down at the table shamefaced. Leia's hand is warm and soft in hers. "I just– I have to–" She takes a deep breath, looking up and catching her eye. "I _must_ find my husband."

Leia holds her gaze, and there's real concern there. Her eyes are brown, a deep caramel color; they remind her so much of Ben.

"I'm sure your… husband… would want you to be safe, dear," she says; her tone is very careful. "There's plenty of time for you to recover a bit more, before you go off climbing mountains…"

Rey bites her lip, breaking eye contact. She _doesn't_ have time, but how on Earth will she convince them…?

"Thought of any names yet, kid?" 

Rey looks up at Han, who grins reassuringly back at her.

"I– we haven't," she tells him. "I suppose it's difficult, isn't it? We don't even know if it'll be a boy or a girl…"

Han laughs. "S'pose we had that problem, too. Couldn't think of a single one 'til the time came, and then we named him after the first decent chap who came to mind…"

"You have children?" Rey asks. She probably shouldn't be surprised, but she can't quite work out the couple's odd dynamic.

"A son," Leia says tightly. "Anyone for dessert?"

She stands, sweeping her way to the door at the end of the room, which Rey figures must lead to the kitchen. The door swings shut behind her.

"I'm sorry for–" Rey starts, but Han cuts her off.

"Don't be," he tells her. "It's my fault."

Leia returns with a pie, the apples piled tall under their pastry, their sauce oozing thick and spicy when it's cut.

Rey goes to sleep early, determined to mend as quickly as possible, but spends the next morning in the stables, brushing Star, inspecting him for any little injuries. Chewbacca comes out before noon and starts whittling something out of a small piece of wood, perched on a stool near Star's stall. They all pass the time in companionable silence while Rey goes through her saddle bag, organizing her remaining possessions. 

"Mr. Chewbacca," she begins hesitantly after a quarter hour of quiet. "I'm not sure I ought to ask, but– did their son… pass away?"

He clears his throat, blowing some wood shavings from the stick.

"We don't know," he says in his deep voice. "Sure looked as though he had, but then we heard he might've come back to– well, it's a long story. Been looking for a long time, and nothing. Think that's the worst part of it, the not knowing. It'd be easier if he were dead and buried." He looks up at her. "It hurts. To hope."

Rey nods, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat. She knows. The hope she holds out for Ben's safe return is like a knife with every breath she takes.

"Is that why they're so… cross with each other?" 

She certainly ought not ask that, not such personal questions about their relationship, but Chewbacca only chuckles wryly.

"Yes," he says. "And no. Their passions have always… run high."

He sighs, turning the rough wooden form in his hand.

"It's hard for Han here, and it's hard for Leia with him here. They remind each other, of what they've lost. And so Han stays away for too long, and Leia can't forgive him when he gets back."

Is this what she'll be, if she never finds Ben? Stuck in her own miserable purgatory? A widow in all but name? "That sounds dreadful."

Chewbacca nods. He sets his knife into the wood again, carving a long curl away from the surface. Rey goes back to her bag, trying to refocus her thoughts, back to more practical subjects. She's been held up here, but that only means that she'll be able to plan better this time, be able to face the elements fully prepared when she finally embarks again upon her journey. She'll likely have to borrow some provisions, which is unfortunate, but Ben can pay them back when she finds him. Oil cloth, for certain. A lamp, dry foodstuffs, a pot perhaps… she'll need to find the blankets she arrived in, she only hopes they haven't been thrown away for being too smelly… 

"When I didn't know where my family was," Chewbacca begins again after a long silence, "after they were forced to walk to the Indian Territory, Han helped me." His deep voice is slightly hoarse. Rey looks up at him, his aged face sad and drawn while he inspects the little wooden figurine. "He helped me find out what happened to them."

Rey says nothing, only watches him sadly, waiting for him to continue.

"My wives did not survive the journey, and neither did two of our little ones. But after many years, I found my daughter. She had been living there the whole time."

Rey blinks rapidly, offering him a watery sort of smile.

"Hope hurts. But to not hope is… unthinkable."

He holds out the little wooden figurine to her. It's a stag, with a rack of antlers crowning its rough head. 

Rey takes it, turning it in her hands, caressing the shaggy mane under its chin. She thinks back to the beast Ben killed last fall, which fed them through the winter. 

_No, not a stag_ , she thinks, closing her fist around it. _An elk._

Leia is eager to have Rey for a companion in the afternoon. After asking whether Rey is quite sure she is not feeling unwell, she suggests a drive about town in the carriage.

"It won't be too much exertion I hope, dear," she says, peering at Rey, who nods, smiling. "Alright, then. We'll have a lovely bit of an excursion, just us women, and be back in time for tea."

Leia leads her to a handsome carriage, which she appears to be quite adept at driving herself, for she hitches the horses and steps up into the seat, holding the reins ably in one hand. Rey settles in next to her.

Leia is a good tour guide, pointing out different buildings of note, slowing down to wave to acquaintances and passersby. She's so gay and lively, so different from the woman at dinner last night.

They cross a rushing creek and begin to climb a rather steep hill.

"It's rather an inconvenience to get to," Leia laughs as they lean back in the buggy seats. "But I do think it's quite a nice place for a school."

Rey catches her breath when the large building comes into view. Alone on the prairie grasses, the near peaks in the background, it's as nice a place for a school as she could imagine.

"It is rather magnificent, isn't it?" she asks excitedly, craning her neck to take in the view. "I visited the college in Lincoln, of course, but it wasn't nearly so nice as this."

"It's a pity you weren't able to attend, dear," Leia says, pulling the horses to a stop by the side of the road; there's a little footpath that leads nearer. "I did always wish to continue my education when I was younger. Times were different then, of course, young women didn't have so many opportunities."

They disembark from the carriage and Leia ties the horses to a nearby post. She takes Rey's arm in hers and they walk slowly down the path, past newly planted saplings and harried students; Rey sees several girls her own age.

"I suppose I never thought about it," Rey says. "How much things have changed for women."

"Not enough," Leia says fiercely, squeezing her hand. "Until we get the vote, we can't truly be equal citizens. We must be the unquestioned arbiters of our own destinies, dear."

Rey nods thoughtfully. "I began to read one of the pamphlets you gave me…"

Leia listens to her thoughts and questions, answering some and asking Rey's opinion on others. The back-and-forth of ideas is rather exhilarating.

"Ah!" Leia slows, greeting a woman who comes down the stairs of the school. "If it isn't Miss Rippon!"

"Mrs. Organa!" The other woman embraces her. Rey is internally grateful to hear Leia's surname; she's quite forgotten since Han told her back in Berthoud, and hasn't quite known how to ask again. "And who's this?"

"This is our houseguest, Mrs. Reyna Sands," Leia says warmly. Drat, they really did bugger up the introductions, but she can't think of a way to correct Leia– Mrs. Organa– in front of her friend. 

"Pleased to meet you," she says instead, extending her hand. 

"Miss Rippon is a professor here," Leia says. "And she does good work with myself and the other ladies in the Temperance Union, of course."

"You're a professor?" Rey asks, her mouth dropping open. 

"Of German studies," Miss Rippon answers, smiling. 

They chat for a few minutes until Miss Rippon must run to her next class, and Rey and Leia return to the carriage so they might make it back in time for tea. Rey feels as though her mind is buzzing.

She's pleased to not be out of breath at all, nor much fatigued, when they reenter the house; perhaps if she continues to feel well, she could leave tomorrow, start to make her way up the canyon. 

Leia leaves to change out of her driving clothes, but Han is in the parlor, poring over some notebooks, and Rey thinks of another item she must check off in order to leave.

"Mr. Organa?" 

Han doesn't look up, so Rey raises her voice; he must not have heard her.

"Mr. Organa? Han?"

His expression is almost startled when he looks at her, but his face relaxes into an easy grin when he sees her.

"What do you need, kid?"

"I– nothing, I just… was wondering if you might draw me a map? Up to Berthoud Pass?"

His grin falters a little, but he nods, flipping a page in his notebook. "It's not an easy route…" he begins, and draws a little squiggly line away from Boulder, noting the streets she would take to get to the canyon entrance, drawing two passes she'd need to climb. "...gotta take a left off Rollins Road after you leave Rollinsville, or else it'll lead you down into the valley. Probably best to stick to the ridge line really, those peaks aren't too severe."

Rey nods mutely; she has no idea how she'll manage this.

"Do you know the sheriff in Berthoud's Pass?" she asks. "Only I thought it might be… best, in case I can't find my husband."

Han's grin fully slips off his face, and Rey's worried she's asked the wrong thing.

"There is no sheriff, sweetheart. Berthoud Pass is just a pass, not a town. Some mining claims up there, of course, but like I said, it's pretty remote. Nearest town's likely Tabernash, or Empire, and both of those're a long way down."

Rey stares at the map, hoping the welling in her eyes isn't obvious. Perhaps if she stares long enough she could change the circumstances by sheer force of will.

"Are you… really certain you want to go?" Han asks her hesitantly. "I know it might not look like you have a lot of options, but–"

"You're drawing her a map?"

It's Leia, returned from changing into an afternoon dress. Her voice is tight; the happy woman from the morning drive is gone.

"I'm just trying to help her out, Princess–" Han raises his hands away from the paper as if to show his innocence.

"Don't call me that," Leia says. She turns to Rey. "Would you like some tea, dear?"

Rey nods, frozen between the two of them; she feels guilty, making them put out at each other.

"Guess that's my cue to leave," Han says, gathering his papers. Rey watches him snap the notebook shut on the map.

"Come, sit," Leia tells Rey. "I'll ring for tea."

Rey does as she's told, conscious of Leia watching her. They sit in silence until the tea comes, and then she accepts a cup and a few tiny scones.

"Reyna," Leia begins after a long pause; her tone is careful, like Rey is a frightened animal she doesn't wish to startle. "I know you're anxious to get back to your husband…" Rey nods, sipping her tea. "I know it must be frightening, to be in your condition, and without... protection. The world can be a terrible place for a woman alone, I know. But you mustn't think you're without friends here." She surveys Rey over the rim of her own teacup. "You're young, and it might not be apparent yet, but a husband that is neglectful, or cruel, can often be worse than none at all."

Rey opens her mouth, but no words come out. Drat, how to explain she hasn't been abandoned…?

Leia presses forward, cutting off any argument she might have made to the contrary. "You could stay with us, dear. I know we've only just met, but I was a ward myself when I was young, and you have so much potential. I'd hate to see you wasting it on a man who doesn't care for you."

Rey flinches at the casual accusation against Ben.

"He does care for me, he just–"

She trails off; there's really no way to explain what's happened.

"You're not even the age of majority yet, Reyna," Leia says sadly, her face open and concerned. "You might have a bright future ahead of you. For you and your baby."

She sighs, continuing.

"In truth I must say it's in part a selfish desire of mine for you to stay. We have no heir, which pains me to admit. But we have been fortunate, and if we might be some help to you… perhaps even allow you to continue your education…"

Rey feels her eyes welling again, though for quite a different reason than when Han explained the map to her.

"That's– very kind of you," she manages. "I am grateful, truly, but I'm– I must– I _need_ to find him. And I know I won't convince you that he's a good and kind man, but he is."

Leia studies her for a long moment, looking like she wants to argue, but breaks her gaze instead, staring down into her teacup.

"I know he'll want to thank you, when I find him," Rey continues hurriedly. "You've been ever so kind to me, and I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. I don't know what I would have done without…"

"It was nothing, dear," Leia says, still looking away. Rey gets the sense that she's a little hurt by the declining of her offer. "If that's what you wish, I must respect it."

"It is," Rey says. She doesn't want to hurt Leia's feelings, but nor can she stay in this town forever. Ben is still out there, in need of help. She looks around the charming parlor, daydreaming for a moment about living here, attending college, conversing with Leia and Han and Chewbacca, all of whom she's grown to quite like, whatever the complicated sentiments they might have about each other. 

Dinner is a subdued affair. Rey feels terrible for causing such awkwardness between Han and Leia. She eats her ham in silence. Somehow she'll need to ask Han for the map, and for the other supplies she needs, if she's to leave tomorrow…

"You still set on going to the pass?" She looks up to find Han staring hard at her. Leia says nothing, though Rey can see her knuckles grow white around her fork.

"I– yes," Rey answers. "I'd like to set out tomorrow, if possible."

" _Tomorrow?_ " Leia says, furrowing her brow. "But you've _only_ just–"

"I'm feeling much better," Rey rushes to reassure her, wringing her hands. "And it's really a matter of some urgency. I've been held up so long already…"

Han nods, his expression grim but resolved. 

"I'll come with you, kid," he says. "Make sure you don't get on the wrong side of any mischief."

"Oh! Thank you– but I couldn't possibly ask you to–" 

"We'll both come," Chewbacca says. "I imagine it'll give Leia some peace of mind about your safety."

"Thank you, Chewy," Leia murmurs. "I suppose it would, but are you _quite certain_ dear–?

"Yes," Rey says, trying to sound firm. "I'm certain."

By mid-morning they're all packed, the horses laden with their saddlebags, foodstuffs carefully packed, blankets and oil cloth at the ready in case of inclement weather. Rey's gun is cleaned and oiled, the powder and shot carefully inspected; it hangs conspicuously across her back. Leia relents her opposition to the journey long enough to supply Rey with some warmer underthings, including something Leia calls an "emancipation suit," which is quite comfortable, though a bit short in the leg. 

Han goes back inside for a few last-minute items, and then Rey remembers the book on her bedside table. Would it be so terrible if she asked Leia whether she could keep it? 

She jumps down from her saddle and pushes open the side door into the house. There's a low murmur coming from the parlor, so she makes her way down the hall. The door is cracked a bit, so she can see into the room.

Han is there, his arms around a shorter figure– it must be Leia. She appears to be weeping.

"I'm sorry, Princess," he murmurs to her in his gravelly voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring him back to you. I'm sorry we weren't there when he came looking for us."

"I don't– blame you for that," Leia says in a watery voice. "I've always hated watching you leave."

"Maybe that's why I do it," Han says, not a hint of mirth in his voice. "So you'll miss me."

"I always miss you."

Rey backs away, creeping back down the hall. She winces when her gun bangs against the frame of the door, shutting it quickly behind her and racing back to Star. She doesn't need to ask about the book.

Han appears at the door soon after, and steps up onto his own horse. Chewbacca circles the small yard, yipping to his mount.

Leia appears in the open doorway, her eyes red. She looks past Rey to her husband and Chewbacca.

"You two keep her safe, you hear?"

"Sure thing, Princess," Han grins, though his eyes are sad.

"We'll look after her, Leia," Chewbacca says. "Take good care of yourself."

Leia smiles. "See you around, Chewy."

"Thank you, Mrs. Organa," Rey says. "For everything."

"You can always come back here, dear," she tells her. "I do wish you the best of luck."

With a last wave goodbye, the three of them ride out of the yard and through the dusty streets, to begin the ascent up the canyon beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Referenced child death; non-graphic descriptions of the Trail of Tears; family drama; first wave feminism.**
> 
> Woof, that was by far the hardest chapter I've written so far, omg. If you can believe it it was actually supposed to be a whole scene _longer_ but that got shunted to the next chapter. 
> 
> I was partially held up even starting because I couldn't decide what to do with Chewbacca; I think he's pretty native-coded in the source material, but then there was a whole question of whether he should be able to speak English or not, and I thought that was a particularly thorny question. Anyway, this is the interpretation I went with in the end. He is _loosely_ based off the [Seminole](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seminole) leader [Osceola](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osceola), who was indeed captured after a betrayal of his truce flag during the Second Seminole War, an act which has been described as "one of the most disgraceful acts in American military history." The description of Chewbacca's look is based off of Osceola's portrait and the costume of this [participant](https://tinyurl.com/lhhwum7n) in a Second Seminole War [reenactment](https://tinyurl.com/10pmx9eh) in Florida.
> 
> Five eastern tribes, including most of the Seminoles, were forced to relocate to the Indian Territory (present day Oklahoma) in the decade or so after the passage of the Indian Removal Act in 1830 by Andrew Jackson. This relocation could correctly be described as a death march, given the terrible conditions and mortality rates, and became known as the [Trail of Tears](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trail_of_Tears). The real Osceola died of quinsy in prison in Florida. As far as I can tell, his descendents actually remained in Florida, and one of them is the ambassador of the Florida Seminole Tribe today. Also I know in canon Chewy has a son, but I hate his name a lot, so.
> 
> Han and Leia's [house](https://www.deancallan.com/property/boulder/1123-spruce-street) is now called the Spruce Street Mansion, and the second floor is apparently available to rent as office space. I may have done some extracurricular activities there in middle school. The original [occupants](https://www.boulderhomesource.com/blog/historic-homes-of-boulder-colorado/) were named Jenny and Albert Soule, which is funny (but not intentional) because Ben's character was based off a man named Silas Soule (no relation to my knowledge.)
> 
> I imagine Rey's skirt is a dark [wool demask](https://ateliernostalgia.wordpress.com/2018/06/25/wool-damask/) fabric that of course Leia would recognize. I found this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qW4snm-zbdI&t=96s) about the cost of a Victorian dress to be very informative and relevant to a lot of the fashion we've seen so far! [Emancipation suits](https://tinyurl.com/m3rzhx7j) were a part of the dress reform movement, which aimed to make women's clothing less restrictive, and were intended to replace chemises, combinations, corsets, and corset-covers. I imagine Rey might not have been super comfy going completely without her corset, but owning an emancipation suit definitely fits in with Leia's experience and participation in the early women's rights movement.
> 
> As for women's rights and suffrage activities, I have way too much to say about it and it will definitely be a recurring theme in upcoming chapters, so get ready for a _lot_ more in future end notes. I will leave you with a primer on the [Women's Christian Temperance Union](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woman%27s_Christian_Temperance_Union), which was the largest women's organization in the world by 1890, and concerned itself with social reform issues that went well beyond alcohol prohibition (though the organization saw most vices and social ills to be very entangled with alcohol consumption.)
> 
> [Mary Rippon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Rippon) was a real person, and the first woman hired as a professor at a state university. I don't know if she was part of the WCTU but she did have a student-teacher whirlwind romance of all of your wildest fantasies, so go give that a read. When the first building on CU's campus was built, it looked like [this](https://www.colorado.edu/about/history/timeline). Full offense to anyone who went to the University of Nebraska Lincoln, but Rey's gonna go to a much better university, namely my alma mater.
> 
> Hope you all are staying safe! If you're able, maybe consider donating to [relief efforts](https://tinyurl.com/svq2s824) in Texas, Louisiana, or Oklahoma.
> 
> Love you all!


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